Money Can't Buy Me Love
by Tribbith
Summary: A/U: "This isn't Pretty Woman! Some rich, handsome douchebag isn't going to sweep you off your feet and treat you like a princess, and until you learn that, you're screwed."
1. Chapter 1

**Part 1 of an indefinite number right now. I would post a time frame of when you can expect the next installment, but you know how I am at deadlines (crap, basically). I'm not used to writing from Rachel's perspective (or to going with the slow and steady approach), so feedback would be ever so dandy.**

**Disclaimer: Glee isn't mine, just like The Beatles, and neither is Finn; bummer.**

**i.** The day Rachel Berry first set foot in New York City, she knew she was home. It didn't matter that she was a small town girl from Ohio, because she knew New York was her destiny, knew it from the very beginning, and despite only being four years old at the time, everything seemed to fall into place around her. She would work her way to the top to make her dreams a reality, and she refused to stop at anything until she got there.

Unfortunately, her life wasn't an inspirational movie or soppy romance novel. She made it to New York, alright, but by the time she'd graduated from NYADA, she... You see...

Fine.

Not a lot happened.

The auditions came thick and fast, at first, and she was confident that she was going to get somewhere. She was up against fellow classmates, but she was _Rachel Berry_, which meant all she had to do was wait patiently for her call back.

Except she didn't get any. The auditions began to slip through her fingers like fine sand until she realised, with a deep pang of regret and pain in her stomach, that she hadn't made it at all.

Still, that didn't mean she was going to give up (those two words weren't in her vocabulary). She promised herself to keep scouring the city for any kind of audition she could find, whether it was for the lead role, or chorus girl number six, and her initial struggle would be a good conversation point for her inevitable talk show interviews of the future.

She just needed a job to keep her head above the water, that was all. Something simple, respectable.

**ii.** Rachel downed another shot as she gazed across the dance floor, bleary-eyed. Usually she avoided drinking for fear it would damage her voice, but after another week of unsuccessful attempts at making it big, she'd decided to go _crazy_. And by crazy, she meant spending her time at a bar where it was happy hour all night long.

_God_ though, she really wasn't one for drinking, especially for drinking alone. The curse of her determination was that she hadn't exactly hit it off in the friend department, not when she'd stabbed most of her classmates in the back to try and better them in every way possible. Occupational hazard, you know? It was a little sad to dance to the music by herself while she downed shot after shot, but it wasn't as if Rachel had a lot of options. She was broke, she was lonely, and even though one guy in particular kept giving her a 'I want to fuck you in a bathroom stall' vibe, she definitely wasn't going to be going home with any strangers.

"Another!" she yapped at the barmaid, who kept shooting her playful smirks.

"You wanna slow down, Doc, this stuff's gonna knock you out." Despite her warning, the Latina girl poured Rachel another drink, only to watch as she swallowed it in one gulp.

"Doc," she said loudly over the pounding bass of the numbing techno music, "is that supposed to be a jibe at my height? Because I've heard much worse than that, and much more creative, too."

The girl rested her elbows on the bar counter while she grinned at an already tipsy Rachel. She was so tipsy, in fact, that she failed to notice that the barmaid was unashamedly checking her out.

"Yeah, like the dwarf, since none of them were called Firecracker." She cocked her head, fingers clinging to the bottle in her grasp. "You drinking your worries away, Snow White?"

Rachel smiled widely as she shook her behind to the music. "Snow White, I like that one much more." She thrust her arms in the air in a carefree manner (she was definitely much more reserved when she was sober) before sitting herself down on a stool. After her third attempt, she was seated comfortably, ready to pour her heart and soul out to anyone that would listen. "As a matter of fact, I am, though I can't really afford to drink them completely away." She hiccupped. "I need a _job_."

"Doesn't everyone?" The girl poured herself a drink, knocking her head back with a hiss and a slap of her lips before she once again let her eyes roam Rachel's body. "How tall are you? Four foot? Three and a half?"

"Five foot two!" Rachel admonished with a tut. "I'm taller when I wear my dangerous shoes." Leaning forward, she looked around like she was conspiring to kill the President, before biting her lip with a small giggle. "I like to call them my hooker heels because they make me feel like a _slut."_ As if she'd just told a ridiculously clever joke, Rachel hung her head back and let out a bark of a laugh that was fuelled by alcohol and a horrid realisation that she was about to hit rock bottom.

"You wanna make some easy money?"

Rachel blinked a few times. "Are you offering to pay me for sex? Because I've never been with a girl before, and while I've been told that I'm a quick learner, I'd be worried about the lack of satisfaction on your end."

"Oh my _God_," cackled the girl, and she shook her head as she wiped at her eyes. "That's the funniest shit I've heard in a long time. No, as much as I like to get down and dirty with boobs now and again, you ain't my type." She stuck her hand out as her eyes twinkled. "Santana Lopez. When you're sober, give me a call, 'cause I might just have a job for you."

Like some suave James Bond character, she shook Rachel's hand while slipping her a business card, and the small brunette marvelled at the professional look of the thing. If she was offering her a job at the bar, who was she to say no? It wasn't ideal, but she needed the money.

She was about to say thank you, truly, but the vomit in the back of the throat put a dampener on that idea.

**iii.** Miraculously, Rachel woke up in her own bed, alone, and as far as she could tell, she hadn't be robbed during her drunken expedition back to her apartment (someone had drawn a rather comical moustache on her face at some point, but it could have been much worse; she couldn't have rocked a goatee).

She groaned and held her head. She was _never_ drinking again, though that wouldn't be an issue, since she was down to her last few dollars. She knew her dads were only a phone call away, but the point of being in New York was to make it big on her own two feet, and she couldn't exactly rely on dad and daddy to bail her out every time things got a little rough. Heck, Madonna had made it in the city with barely a penny to her name, and so could Rachel Berry!

Yes, she could _do_ it.

Once she'd sobbed hysterically in her bathtub for twenty three minutes.

It was only when she was peeling off her damp pyjamas that she noticed the business card that, for whatever reason, had been stashed away in her panties.

Santana Lopez, professional escort.

Rachel blanched as she stared down at the silver lettering. How drunk had she gotten last night? She definitely did _not_ remember enquiring about the services of a prostitute, for goodness sake, because while she was lonely, she wasn't _that_ desperate.

Besides, while she was all for gay happiness and everything, she didn't swing that way, and Santana sounded like a girl.

Then it clicked. Santana, Santana, she'd been the barmaid, right? She vaguely remembered something about a job offer, but she'd been too out of it to really take much notice.

Rachel bit her lip as she stared down at the card, not paying any attention when the tangy taste of blood hit her tongue. Professional escort; that had to be a euphemism for prostitute.

Laughing to herself that she would even consider it, Rachel threw the card in the trash and set about making herself look and feel slightly more acceptable.

Rachel as an escort? And pigs might fly.

**iv. **Ten minutes later, she looked out of the window in expectation of seeing a piglet with angel wings and a little halo, because pressed against her ear was her cell phone as Santana's phone began to ring.

_Sue_ her, okay? She was desperate and in need of some kind of financial stability, and there was still the chance that Miss Lopez was offering her a job at the bar (it wasn't exactly any of Rachel's business to know what the girl did in her free time).

"_You're go for Santana."_

"Um... hi." Rachel cursed herself for being so unprepared. She'd made a list of queries she wanted to ask about, but any kind of coherency had flown out of the window (no doubt with the pig) at the sound of Santana's voice. Her memories were slowly starting to return, including one that involved grinding up against a trash can.

Yes, she'd definitely done a few embarrassing dances the night before.

"_Who is this?"_

"My name is Rachel Berry. You gave me your card last night but I must inform you that I have more self decency and worth than to become a prostitute. I don't judge you for being in that line of work because I'm sure the pay is rewarding and there's a certain freedom in sleeping with rich men but that is not who I am and I definitely don't have the body for that kind of thing since my boobs are non-existent and I tend to ramble on during sex when I'm nervous which doesn't contribute to a very romantic atmosphere though it's-"

"_Hold up." _Rachel snapped her mouth shut, the tips of her ears pinking. "_Firstly, shut the hell up because it's not even ten and I'm still trying to adjust to the damn sunlight." _A lot of cursing in Spanish followed, and though Rachel didn't understand it, she felt embarrassed at the no doubt vulgar words she was listening to. "_You talk way too fast and way too much, so can it for now. I'm not a prostitute, I'm an escort."_

Rachel waited for the punch line, but when there was only silence, she laughed a little breathlessly. "Okay, but everyone knows what that means."

"_Clearly you don't, Doc. Prostitutes put out, escorts don't. Capeesh?" _

"Excuse me?"

Santana sighed loudly. "_You pay a prostitute for sex-"_

"I know that, I'm not completely-"

"_-but you pay an escort for friendship."_

"A friend, are you serious?"

"_Stop being so narrow minded! God, look, here's the deal. As an escort, you escort people to wherever they need to go. Sometimes you go as a date to a fancy work dinner, or sometimes you go as a plus one at some charity opening. Point is, the night doesn't end in sex, it just ends."_

Rachel paused as she tapped her fingers against her chin. "So what you're saying is that there is no sexual intercourse involved whatsoever?"

"_Bingo."_

"What about... other kinds of almost intercourse?"

"_Why, you kinky?"_

"No!" she said, her feathers ruffled. "I mean, what about, you know, o-oral sex? Hand jobs? Groping of the breasts?"

"_You're hilarious,"_ said Santana with a deep laugh (Rachel just huffed at how uncomfortable she felt). "_No, none of that stuff. Escorts are basically just arm candy."_

"And you're offering me a position as one?"

"_Sort of. I don't run the agency, but you're short, cute, you've got a great ass. The boss is always looking for tiny girls, and with a rack like yours, who could say no?"_

The excitement in her belly was stifled at the breast quip. Rachel looked down at her chest at the tiny bumps under her sweater and wished, as she always did, that she had more of an alluring figure. "Please don't insult me, Santana, I don't appreciate it."

"_I'm not joking, Doc. Yeah, your tits might be mole hills compared to my mountains, but they're modest, and some guys like that. Makes you more natural."_

Rachel scoffed. "Why, because yours aren't?"

"_Nope. Had 'em done junior year of high school and I've never looked back."_

"Oh... Well, I'm not sure. It still seems a little shady to me."

"_I get that. Whenever my profession comes up, people assume I'm a cheap hooker who sleeps around for spare change. Let me tell you, it's nothing like that. You get looked after, the pay is good, and who wouldn't wanna pretend to be the girlfriend of some hot, lonely CEO for a night?"_

"You really think I'm the right material?"

"_If you don't get offered a position, I'll give my vibrator to Goodwill, and that shit wasn't cheap."_

Rachel hung up with a sense of worry and trepidation pulsing along her skin as goose bumps. It was a bad, bad idea, but she was ironically turned on by the sound of such an occupation. When it came down to it, she couldn't afford to be picky, not if she wanted to continue to be able to buy food and clothes.

Santana offered to set her up with an interview, and she used the last of her money to treat herself to a full body wax and facial, hoping that the pain and humiliation she had to go through was going to be worth it.

**v.** "Jeez, relax Dopey, you're making me nervous."

Rachel stopped biting her nails long enough to glare at the girl beside her. "I think I preferred Doc. Really, why can't you just use my actual name? I think that's what it's there for."

"Ha ha," said Santana sarcastically. She flipped through the magazine in her lap while Rachel once again started biting her nails to shreds, only to laugh out loud at some article. "Hey Grumps, why not take this quiz while you wait?"

Rachel looked across, only to gasp loudly and cover her eyes. "I am _not _a stuck up prude!"

"Then why are you wearing that dumbass owl sweater? I told you to look sexy, not ninety. And anyway, where are those hooker heels you wouldn't stop telling me about?"

The smaller girl looked down at her clothes as she blushed profusely. She'd considered dressing up somewhat, but if the agency was interested in keeping things sex-free, then why would she need to show more flesh?

"There's nothing wrong with penny loafers," she said snottily while Santana laughed under her breath. "I want them to get to know the real me."

"Here's hoping there are some perverted Japanese business men with very dark, specific fetishes who are interested in hiring you out."

Rachel was about to protest when someone at the front desk called out her name. She stood up, smoothed down her chequered skirt, then followed the receptionist to her destination, giving Santana a thumbs up on the way there.

She was treated to a flash of Santana's lady parts, because apparently, it was too much effort for her new friend to wear underwear.

**vi.** An aspect of being a struggling New Yorker was attending interview after interview. She'd got that down to a T, which meant that she was prepared for any situation.

Led into a green room, however, she found her confidence wavering at the sight of one of the biggest cameras she'd ever seen.

"Rachel Berry?" called a voice from behind one of the numerous monitors, and all she could do was nod numbly. "I'm Artie. Just stand on the red cross on the floor and smile."

Before she could ask any questions, lights started flashing all around her, leaving her standing awkwardly like a deer in the very same position.

It only took her a few seconds to adapt. Paparazzi were going to be a large part of her future career, which meant she couldn't appear uncomfortable under the spotlight. Therefore, despite how unsexy she felt, Rachel began to pose in as many provocative ways as she could muster. She was obviously doing something right, since the man named Artie kept shouting encouraging words at her. It already felt a little sordid, but who was she to judge?

"Great, that's great." The flashlight off, a boy no older than her glided towards her in a wheelchair, and she held her hand out with a smile. He graciously accepted, and the gloves on his palms rubbed against her skin as he used his other hand to push his glasses onto his nose. "This probably seems a little overwhelming, but the best way to know if you're suitable for the job is to see how you look behind a camera."

"Naturally," she said with a nod.

"The next part of the process is probably even more unorthodox, but it's just as important." Clearing his throat, he directed her to a chair beside him, and when she was seated (and her knees were knocking against one another with nerves), Artie folded his hands and cocked his head. "I want you to put me at ease. I'm a new client who's unsure if an escort is the right service for me, and since I have an eclectic taste in music and literature, I'm worried we might not have anything to talk about."

Improvisation; fantastic! Rachel had always excelled whenever she was required to improv anything.

"I'm Ben," Artie began, and he diverted his gaze in favour of staring down at his neatly laced sneakers.

"Hello Ben, it's very nice to meet you. I'm Rachel, but you may call me Rach if you'd prefer."

Artie stiffened, still not meeting her eyes. "I don't like nicknames."

"That's fine!" she assured him, and she softly placed a hand on his arm. He immediately pulled away, but undeterred, she continued. "I understand that completely. When I was at school, I had so many nicknames, most of which were completely stupid. One girl in particular used to call me Red Rachel in the hope that I'd turn into some kind of Hulk-like creature and tear the school apart, but it never happened."

She wasn't sure if it was in character or out, but Artie chuckled and flashed her a smile. "You're a fan of superheroes?"

"Oh definitely," she gushed, letting out a dreamy sigh. "Not of the comic book variety, however. I prefer the movies."

"Hot guys?"

Giggling, she bit her lip as she shrugged. "Maybe that has something to do with it."

The scenario continued for another fifteen minutes, and honestly, Rachel felt completely at ease. Whoever Artie was pretending to be, she was completely in her element. Despite having very few friends to her name, she knew the logistics of being civil to other human beings; as long as she could reign in her own ambitions (and occasional selfishness), she knew she had a shot at the position.

"Well, I'm very impressed. We'll let you know as soon as we've made a decision. Thank you for coming, Rachel."

"My pleasure, and thank you for your consideration!" She bent down to press a kiss to Artie's cheek, and with a sense of pride when he smiled bashfully, she wished him farewell as she went to join Santana.

After she almost threw up in the lobby, that is.

**vii.** "_And you're eating properly? I sincerely hope the ramen years are over, princess, because you need to keep up your strength for all of those auditions you've been attending."_

Rachel licked her lips and pushed her bowl of noodles aside whilst flicking through the hundreds of channels that still offered nothing good to watch. "Of course, daddy."

"_Good girl. How's the job hunt going?"_

"Oh, fantastic, really fantastic." Terrible. "I have a lot of options to choose from." I'm going to be lonely and jobless forever. "I'm having the time of my life." I'm struggling, daddy.

"_So you don't need any more money from me and your dad? We wouldn't think any less of you, sweetie, because everyone needs a helping hand now and again."_

Rachel was beyond tempted to just give in and ask for help since she still hadn't heard back from the agency, but no, she had a sliver of self dignity left, and she was kind of hoping to save it for an attractive man who wanted to sweep her off her feet.

"No, but thank you." Her phone beeped to let her know she had another call waiting, and her stomach dropped. Oh _God_, was this it? "I have to go daddy, there's someone else on the line and it could be important."

"_Okay my little star. Good luck! We both love and miss you so much."_

"Love you too!" she chirped, and in her hurry to hang up, she somehow managed to cut off the waiting caller. "_No!"_

Trying her best not to pull her hair out in a frantic rage, Rachel took a deep breath to compose herself. It was probably nothing, probably no one.

The answer machine began to beep, and with wide, fearful, 'this might be my only chance to live a normal life' eyes, she listened intently.

"_Miss Rachel Berry, this is the secretary of Miss Sue Sylvester calling. There appears to be an issue with your phone, so I apologise for leaving a message this way. Mr Artie Abrams was very impressed with your interview, and Miss Sylvester found your photos intriguing. We would like to offer you a position at our agency, so please pay us a visit when you get this message. Congratulations."_

The phone disconnected at the same time that Rachel passed out on the floor.

(In her defence, the lack of nutritional food was probably a contributing factor.)

**viii.** "I start on Monday." Rachel sipped gingerly at the... _exotic_ looking cocktail that Santana had whipped up for her, wincing as the alcohol burnt her throat. "I just wanted fruit juice!"

"But we're celebrating tonight, Doc!" Santana swallowed a mouthful from her own drink and whistled in appreciation. "God, I'm good."

"I bet you hear that a lot."

Almost choking on the seediness of his line, Rachel turned to her side to see a boy leering at Santana. He was probably a year or so older than she was, and judging by the way he stared at her friend's breasts (she liked to think they were friends, at least), he was interested in more than the drinks she could conjure up.

Rachel wrinkled her nose at the Mohawk on his head; definitely not her type.

"Of course I do." Santana poured the guy a drink without asking, placing a hand on her hip as she shimmied her head slightly (she really was very good at giving sass). "Glad you finally found your balls."

The grin on his face was soon replaced with a blank look of confusion, causing Rachel to giggle into her drink (she pretended she hadn't just poked her eye out with the cocktail umbrella, for dignity's sake).

"What?"

"You've been in here for nearly four hours, and I know you've been ogling me for at least three of them." In a rather forward manner that Rachel made note of for future reference, Santana smacked her own ass loudly, causing the red-faced boy to gulp. "I get off in two, so wait for me."

"I'd wait forever for you, babe." Only then did he acknowledge Rachel's existence with a general sweep of her body, leaving her feeling completely exposed (and a little nauseous). "Want me to set your friend up with someone? I have this friend, tall and dopey looking, and-"

Santana waved him off before he continue, thank goodness, because as much as she appreciated drunk strangers trying to match-make for her, she just wasn't in the mood. She was supposed to be celebrating her new job, but the more she lingered, the more unprofessional it sounded.

She could only imagine how disappointed her parents would be.

"Not for sale," said Santana with a sniff. "My girl's off the market for now, but thanks for trying. She's a bit of a prude, anyway."

Slamming her fist onto the counter, Rachel hiccupped as she glared between the two of them. "I am _not_ a prude! Modest sensibilities don't make me a nun!"

The boy chuckled, which only made her blood boil quicker. "That's a shame, 'cause you and my bud would be perfect for each other. 'I want love, not sex, girls aren't pieces of meat, you should respect them, blah blah blah'." He winked at Santana. "I'm Puck, by the way. You'll be screaming it later."

"I hope so," she purred. Due to the intensity of the eye sex occurring between the two of them, Rachel muttered her excuses and left, wondering if there were many men who would ever really respect her.

**ix.** Sue Sylvester had to be the most formidable human being she'd ever encountered in her rather young life. She was confident, poised, and (excuse her French) fucking terrifying. She wore a very expensive suit that probably cost more than Rachel's rent for the whole year, and the way in which she stared made her feel as if she was being cross-examined for murder.

"You really are small. Good. Good."

Rachel clasped and unclasped her hands with a lack of how to respond.

"The clothes are gonna have to go though." She held up a hand before Rachel could protest, and instead gave her a credit card. "Every new employee gets an initial clothing allowance. You need a range of attire that lets people know that you're a respectable, refined young lady, not some kindergarten reject."

Honestly, she'd heard worse.

"You know Santana Lopez, correct?"

"Y-yes."

"Tell her to take you shopping, and buy whatever she tells you to buy, no buts." Sue picked up a thick folder full of documents, and oh _no_, was she serious? They couldn't possibly be for- "You need to read all of this. If you have any questions, call my secretary. You'll have your first appointment with a client this week, so make sure you're fully prepared." With a warm-ish smile, Sue folded her arms over her chest while Rachel quivered in her seat. "Welcome to the team, Berry."

**x.** Rachel stared up at the various outfits that hung from the stall door that she was currently occupying. She'd been dreading the expedition as soon as Sue had suggested it, because come on, Santana was _beautiful._ She had a really nice body (despite most of it being fake) that would look good in anything, but Rachel wasn't so fortunate. Anything that was supposed to showcase her breasts made her look like a child dressing up in her mother's clothes, and that was just an extra kick in the teeth, considering her own mother wanted nothing to do with her.

"Are you wearing anything yet?"

"No, I'm just... deliberating."

"Sue told you to listen to me, so just suck it up and listen. I don't have all day."

"Fine, fine."

The first thing she tried on was a cat suit.

No, really, Santana had given her a cat suit. Not only was it extremely difficult to put on in the first place, once she was wearing the damn thing, she couldn't get it off, and it wasn't exactly flattering.

"You need any help?"

Growling in defeat as she fiddled with the zipper on the back, Rachel sighed, knowing she was going to regret her answer. "Yes please."

Her friend slipped inside with a grin on her face, only to slap Rachel's butt, surrounded in an air of nonchalance. "Not bad, Doc, not bad."

"It's hideous!"

Santana pressed a finger to her lips, scanning her eyes over the material. "Nah, you just don't have a lot going on up front. You opposed to wearing chicken fillets?"

"I'm a vegan!"

"The _boob_ kind."

"Oh. Well yes, as a matter of fact I am, and I don't see when I'd ever wear this anyway." Checking herself out in the mirror (her butt didn't look _too_ bad in it), Rachel wrinkled her nose in frustration. "I thought the whole point of this job was to not sell sex?"

"No, no." Santana thumbed through the other selections that hung on the door while Rachel continued to wrestle with the zipper. "We're not selling sex, but you want people to think we are."

"Excuse me?"

Pulling out a dress that already showed too much cleavage without Rachel wearing it, Santana sucked in an exhausted breath. "It's a good thing I like you, Doc, because you're way too naive for your own good. Think of yourself as a good slice of fillet steak. Yeah yeah, don't give me that face, I know you're a vegan."

"Can't I be a good piece of tofu?"

"You're on the menu at a restaurant, competing with all the other steaks to try and get noticed. You _want_ to be eaten, and it doesn't matter if you're not gonna put out at the end of the meal, 'cause once you're chosen, you're chosen."

Rachel blinked as she looked up at the ceiling. Though the metaphor could have used a little work, she understood the message behind it. It was all about appearances, right? She had to appear to be available, even if she wasn't. It was just like the concept in Coyote Ugly, which happened to be one of her favourite movies. Violet had to convince the customers that she was single so that they'd want to spend money on her, despite not being able to actually date them.

Then, of course, she fell in love with Kevin which was against the rules of the bar; cue heartbreak and angst until LeAnn Rimes helped her have a happily ever after.

At least Rachel didn't have to worry about falling in love with a client.

"Stop daydreaming and put this shit on."

**xi.** Two days later, and with a wardrobe full of clothes that she never would have picked out herself, Rachel's brand new pager began to beep.

Her very first client!

Santana had been through the basics with her over and over again until the point where she could rehearse her advice in her sleep, and though she was terrified, she was also oddly excited.

_Riley's Bar, 8pm, work party. Mr Johnson will be waiting for you at the south entrance._

She was definitely ready for it.

**xii.** It was 11:52pm when Rachel phoned Santana from a bathroom stall in a fit of tears and a ripped dress. She tried to control her breathing as best she could, but the more she thought about it, the harder it became.

"_This better be important, Bashful, I'm busy right now."_

"C-c-c-can you pick me up?"

"_I'll be there in ten, chika, hold tight."_

At any other time, she would have been impressed at Santana's efficiency (especially considering she'd called during a 'rendezvous' with the Mohawk boy from the bar), but considering the fact that she felt like some cheap floozy (and she'd lost a shoe), it wasn't on the top of her priority list.

True to form, Santana pulled up in a cab eleven minutes later, along with a worried looking Puck who pulled her into a hug that she definitely wasn't expecting.

"Where did the fucker go?"

Wide and teary eyed, she gazed across at Santana, who nodded once. "I told him everything, and he's here as back up for when I rip that dickhead's balls off."

Rachel sniffled as she buried her face against Puck's chest. Granted, she didn't know him, but she wasn't in the position to turn down a good hug. "H-h-he left when I told him no the third time." She pointed down at her dress, where a nasty rip showed off the backs of her legs. "I was so _naive!_ He seemed nice, so I just laughed his advances off. This is all my fault."

"Like hell it is," growled the boy, and he set about rubbing soothing circles against her back. "You look hot, but that didn't give him the right to try it on with you."

"Puck's right, Doc. Come on, you're coming home with me."

The three of them climbed into a cab like a slightly dysfunctional family, and though Rachel felt humiliated and scared and downright disappointed in herself, she was grateful for the friend she'd found in Santana.

And maybe in Puck, too.

**xiii.** She'd expected Sue to be mad at her. She'd expected shouting, cursing, firing even, but with a sympathetic nod, the woman had simply picked up the phone and called the police.

The _police_.

"I refuse to let any of my girls get sexually harassed. Sometimes there isn't enough evidence for the jerks to be charged, but your dress is proof of what he did to you." Rachel sniffled, and surprisingly, Sue leaned over her desk to take the small girl's hand in her own. "Don't think it's any reflection on you. Unfortunately, it's just one of the things you have to be prepared for in this line of work."

"I understand," she said in a whisper. She'd debated it with herself over and over, wondering if it was the right thing to just quit while she was still in one piece.

When it came down to it though, she still needed the money, so it wasn't as if she had a lot of choice.

"You need to get back on the horse, Berry. I have an appointment for you tomorrow. You think you can handle it?"

Decision time.

She nodded her head.

**xiv.** Her next client was a girl. A _girl_. Even though there was nothing intimate involved, it still felt strange to be accompanying a woman on a dinner date, especially since it was a double dinner date with some work friends.

Santana had told her not to judge anyone, and as a natural victim of various levels of discrimination, she didn't like to make assumptions until she knew all the details.

Some people hired escorts for important meetings and dinners (to make themselves look professional).

Some people hired escorts for family gatherings (to avoid any awkward 'are you going to be on your own for the rest of your life?' questions).

Some people hired escorts because they were forced into it by meddling/worried family members (to try and subject them to the world of relationships again, without the risk of things turning sour before the date was through).

Some people hired escorts because they were lonely, which said all that needed to be said. Apparently it wasn't uncommon for men (and women) of all ages to request the services of an escort simply for the company. With the ability to pick and choose who the agency sent, it made finding common interests much easier, and Santana had told her that many real friendships had been formed over time.

Her female client was nice enough.

At first.

The conversation was good and the atmosphere relaxed, but as soon as her work colleagues arrived, everything was different. It was obvious from the start that she'd dated one of the women that had joined them for dinner, and that's when the jealousy routine began.

Basically, Rachel was there as a pawn to show the other girl what she was missing out on. Despite the fact that intimate contact wasn't allowed (unless agreed upon first under certain circumstances), her client kept trying to kiss Rachel, on the _mouth_. She had no problem with lesbians whatsoever, but she was _not_ going to let a stranger kiss her, even if she was being paid to be there.

It only seemed to get worse. Whenever the other couple displayed any signs of PDA, the client would try and get them back however she could (which mainly involved trying to practically swallow Rachel's earlobe).

When a hand tried to grab her breasts, she called the dinner short and took a cab home so she could cry about it in the dignity of her own apartment.

Sue was once again understanding, but Rachel didn't expect her sympathy to last forever.

**xv.** By the end of her very first month as an escort, Rachel had managed to experience four disastrous attempts at doing her job. Her third client had tried to entice her into joining an orgy, and her fourth client had grabbed her ass as soon as she'd set inside the restaurant.

"We just need to vet these people better, that's all. Your next client is going to be a gentleman."

"Do they exist?" she'd snorted, completely forgetting her place. While she blushed at her inappropriate forwardness, Sue simply shook her head.

"Not that I know of, but if I let myself believe that this miserable world is filled with nothing but jerks, I wouldn't be able to make it through the day."

"Amen," Rachel whispered under her breath.

**xvi.** Running her tongue down the side of her glass, Rachel sighed to herself as she watched Santana and Puck dancing together in the throng of sweaty bodies. Despite her insistence that she wasn't a heavy drinker, Santana managed to persuade her to visit the bar most nights, even when it wasn't her shift. It was nice to be out with friends, sure, but she was getting a little tired of the nauseating PDA that Lopez and Puckerman weren't averse to displaying.

Though she hadn't known Santana for long, it still surprised Rachel that her friend was settling for Noah. There wasn't anything wrong with him, per se, but neither of them seemed like the type who valued commitment. Granted, that was probably the reason they were so good for one another, and when Noah planted a sloppy kiss to Santana's cheek, Rachel couldn't help but let out another pent up sigh.

"You were staring," said the girl in question, who came up to Rachel, panting slightly.

"If you want a threesome, just say so, Berry, we're open to that kind of stuff."

Deftly ignoring Noah's comment, she swallowed the remains of her cosmo (virgin, thank you very much) before letting out the smallest of snarls. "I'm going home to wallow in self pity since I'll probably be spending the rest of my life alone."

Puck snorted as he ordered himself a beer. "I keep telling you, I have this friend who you should meet. He's just as pathetic as you."

Santana cackled at the look on her face, and rather than offering some kind of 'course you're not pathetic, Rachel!', she simply slapped her on the back. "Have fun, Doc!"

Neither of them even bothered to wave her off, since they were too caught up in exploring each other's mouths.

Honestly, some people were so selfish.

**xvii.** Client number five came two weeks into her second month working at the agency. While part of her was worried that the night was going to end in the same disastrous way as all the others, she was honestly just glad that someone wanted her. It wasn't set in stone, but it was common knowledge that if a month went by without any clients being interested in you, Sue would have to let you go.

Same old same old; she was too broke to be fired over technicalities.

At least waiting around for her pager to beep meant that she could stay on top of auditions. Making it onto Broadway was still her priority, and thought her attempts were unsuccessful time and time again, she refused to give up, no matter her demoralising the whole experience was turning out to be.

_Your client tonight will be Mr Hudson. Address and details to come._

Rachel ran a finger across the screen of her pager. Mr Hudson; he sounded respectable, as far as names went. He wanted to meet at a Starbucks for a 'casual' date, which basically meant he needed a friend.

Friend she could do, as long as he kept his hands to himself.

**xviii.** Rachel arrived early as usual (she didn't want to be unprofessional after all), and since she had time to spare, she allowed herself to stare up at the board that advertised the large range of drinks on offer.

She really had no idea what she was doing. Starbucks had always been too expensive for her tastes, and unlike the Lima Bean in her hometown, they didn't seem to sell just _coffee_. Or maybe they did, she couldn't tell, and she felt a little self conscious trying to decipher the cryptic beverage code while people sidestepped her to place their orders.

"You need any help?" came a voice from behind, and she waved the man off without even looking.

"No thank you."

"Okay. Erm, are you..." The same man cleared his throat, but Rachel was more interested in the menu. Did they sell orange juice? That would solve all of her problems. "Rachel Berry?"

Her head snapped towards him as a crinkle appeared between her eyebrows. She'd dreamt of this moment for so long that she had no idea what to do now that it had arrived.

Someone recognised her from her auditioning exploits; her first fan!

"Why yes, I am." She gave the stranger a mega watt smile, only then realising how lucky she was. Wow, her first fan was _incredibly_ handsome. "What's your name?"

She took her earlier words back; he was more of a boy than a man, and a very cute boy he was. One hand rubbed the back of his neck while the other he stuck out in front of him, and she gladly took it in her own with a firm shake.

"Uh, Finn Hudson. I guess they don't tell you our names or something."

Then it clicked. He wasn't a fan of her failed audition attempts; he was her _client_.

She burst into tears right on the spot, and Finn pulled his hand away like he'd just been burnt. "Woah, hey, come on, let's sit down."

She was aware of him directing her to a table, and she was aware of the looks of concern (and disgust) that people were giving her, and she was vaguely aware of the hand on her back that rubbed it to help calm her down. He handed her a napkin which she used to dry her eyes, and once she'd stopped making ridiculous whimpering sounds, she sucked in a breath and looked at him properly.

This would be a first; he'd probably be walking out on her before the 'date' was over.

And yet she didn't see fear in his eyes. Worry, maybe, but he didn't look like he was going to bolt anytime soon.

"Take deep breaths," he said softly. He picked up another napkin and stuck his tongue out of the side of his mouth in concentration as he wiped away her dripping mascara (oh how _professional_). "Much better." He smiled, his lips half-quirking upwards until he was giving her one of the nicest crooked grins she'd ever seen, and honest to God, Rachel felt herself swoon.

"Thank you. I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me."

"You're probably used to much better looking guys." Despite being overly emotional not even five minutes ago, Rachel let out a laugh that made her whole body shake. Finn smiled to himself (though if he was smiling at his own joke or her reaction, she couldn't tell) and stuck out his hand for a second time. "I'm Finn, and I have this really weird gift where I make girls cry when we first meet."

Rachel pressed a hand to her forehead in shame before taking it once more. His hands were huge, but that wasn't surprising considering how tall he was (most people were taller than her, but he was something else). "Rachel Berry. Sometimes I weep when I'm in the presence of greatness."

"Is that so?" He bit his lip to hold back a laugh, and Rachel nodded with a serious expression. "Well I guess I'm honoured."

"You should be. There's high demand for me, you know."

His face fell, only for a second, but she saw it.

"I don't... I've never done this before," he admitted. His voice was so quiet that she wasn't sure if she'd heard him, but judging by the sudden nervous state that had come over him, she had. "I don't really know the equine."

Rachel blinked. "Equine? Oh, you mean etiquette!" Oh God, when a blush flamed across his cheeks, she honestly felt her heart dip. "Easy mistake to make, I do it all the time."

He shot her a grateful smile, which she returned with a beam.

"So um, yeah, etiquette."

"What would you like to know?" She leaned forward and folded her hands on the table as she watched him. She hadn't done this before. Granted, Finn was only her fifth client, but none of her previous ones had wanted to discuss the arrangements (which was probably why they'd all ended so badly).

"First, can I get you a coffee?"

Then it was Rachel's turn to blush. "I don't really know what I want from here. I'm just used to ordering a black coffee with two sugars and that's that."

"I feel your pain. I don't even like coffee, so I just order tea with a ton of milk and enough sugar to give me a rush. I'll be right back, Rach."

Then the jerk had the audacity to flash her one of the nicest smiles ever known to man before he went to wait in line, showing off his unacceptably perfect ass.

Rachel felt herself sinking into her seat. What was she doing? Firstly, he was her client, and any kind of romantic feelings towards him were inappropriate (not to mention against the rules).

Secondly, she had never been one to objectify men before, and she couldn't allow a stranger to make her into someone she wasn't.

Thirdly, _oh_, all coherent thought went out the window because he kept looking over his shoulder with a grin, which meant that he knew she was staring at him like she'd just seen the face of God.

She was very tempted to text Santana to ask for advice, but knowing her friend, she'd probably encourage illegal relations between the two of them.

No one had called her Rach before.

"A black coffee, two sugars, and a vegan friendly blueberry muffin." Setting everything down on the table, he almost spilt his tea at the expression on her face.

"It's vegan?"

The tips of his ears turned red in embarrassment, and while Rachel wanted to assure him that it was a good choice, she couldn't pick her jaw up from the floor.

"God, sorry, reflex. My brother, he's on a health kick or something and he's an experimental vegan. I can get you something else, just-"

She darted her hand out to grab his, catching both of them by surprise. Finn gulped loudly (she was mesmerised by the way his Adam's apple bobbed up and down in his throat) and Rachel coughed to hide her embarrassment. "No, thank you, that's wonderful. That was rude of me. I'm actually a vegan, and for a moment it was as if..."

"I knew you without knowing you?" His eyes seemed to twinkle at that, and it took all she had not to just give in and stroke his face.

"Something like that."

She wondered what his skin tasted like. She licked her lips.

"So... where were we?"

Rachel snapped herself out of her boy-crazy haze to take a sip from her coffee. "Okay, ground rules. I'm not a prostitute, so I won't have sex with you."

She waited, waited for the disappointment, the 'are you kidding me?', the excuses so he could leave, but all Finn did was nod his head. "Sure thing."

She gulped, diverting her gaze for a moment before looking back at him. "You already know?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'd never... A prostitute, that's..." He wrinkled his nose. "You get a lot of people thinking that you're...?"

"Yes," she said, jaw clenched. "And some people don't take no for an answer."

"Douchebags," he muttered, taking a gulp from his tea, only to spit most of it back in his cup. "Ow, fuck, I forgot that was hot." He stuck his tongue out when she giggled at him, and he even had the nerve to steal a piece of her muffin (which was definitely not a euphemism, just to be clear). "That must suck."

"It does indeed suck, very much so. I don't like people judging me, thinking that I'm a common street walker or something."

He shrugged as he stole another piece. "I wouldn't think any less of you. I mean, we've all gotta make a living somehow, right?"

Oh how she wished they were meeting under different circumstances. "I suppose so. It also means that there's no-"

And then something happened which she could only explain in one way; he must have drugged her coffee.

She was supposed to say 'it also means that there's no kissing involved, unless we go to a formal event that calls for intimacy' (i.e. Santana said that some clients wanted escorts to pose as their fake girlfriends for whatever reason, and a kiss on the cheek made the premise much more believable). Casual meet ups like theirs didn't require anything of the sort, which was what she was about to tell him.

But her eyes looked down at his lips, and though it was completely reckless of her, she didn't want to rule out the possibility that she might get to kiss that mouth.

"I... It means that, what I was going to say, it includes... blowjobs!" Okay, yes, she may have shouted the last word in excitement at having found a suitable lie, and yes, maybe an old couple who were seated near their table covered their ears as they complained about loose women, but Finn's chuckle made all of that irrelevant.

"Right, got it, no monkey business." He blew lightly on his tea while Rachel wished for a split second that she was that beverage, his breath hot against her skin as he took her to his lips and-

That was probably a reason she wasn't great in relationships.

"I guess I should have asked more questions when I was on the phone, but like... How long do I get you for?" He winced straight away while Rachel bit back a giggle. "Sorry, I don't mean it like you're a piece of meat or something, but well, I don't have a lot planned."

"As long as you want me." Feeling self conscious, she twirled a piece of hair around her finger as she watched him with guarded eyes. "Some people request escorts for the full day, while others just for an hour or so."

"I wish I could keep you for a full day," he murmured, only to smack a hand against his head as he cursed to himself. "I'm not coming onto you or anything, I swear. I just... haven't had someone to talk to for a while, and you seem really cool, Rachel."

Honestly? He seemed really cool too. She was going to tell him that, in fact, but some kind of pager started beeping on his belt, and he cursed again at whatever it said.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I have to go. I'll still pay for the full session and stuff, I promise." He jumped up out of his seat, knocking his tea all over the table as he shook his head and stared down at her, flustered. "Can I... Is it against the rules if I ask to spend time with you again?"

Rachel tried to play it cool by sipping from her coffee, as if she was always asked the same question. "I'd be offended if you didn't."

"Bye Rach." Swooping down, he pressed his lips against her cheek for a total of three seconds, but hot damn, what a beautiful three seconds it was.

"Bye Finn Hudson." And like a dream, he disappeared in a cloud of smoke while she sighed happily to herself because she didn't completely suck at her job.

**xviii.** "Come on, give us some details!" moaned Puck, who had his head propped up against the bar. "We should be celebrating that this jackass wasn't really a jackass like the others."

Rachel stabbed him with the sharp end of her cocktail umbrella, getting a strange amount of satisfaction from the way he hissed in pain. "He was _not_ a jackass, thank you very much. He was a gentleman with a lovely smile."

"What was his name?"

She let out a dreamy sigh. "Finn."

She didn't see the way Puck and Santana high fived behind her back.

**xix.** She waited, waited for her pager to alert her of the next time she'd be escorting Finn Hudson wherever he wanted to go, but the only contact from the outside world came in the form of a phone call (which, by the way, was the wrong number, since Rachel knew of no one called Mohinder).

She tried to ignore the twisting sensation in her stomach.

**xx.** When almost an entire day had passed without any kind of message from the agency, Rachel decided to throw caution to the wind so she could spend her wages on actual brand name food. Despite having little luck with her new job, the pay was rather excellent, and she was lamely excited to fill her cupboards for a change.

She paid her cab driver (complete with tip!), grabbed a shopping basket (bypassing the ramen completely), and began. She hesitated a few times when the choice came down to the real deal and the substitute option, but all in all, she thought the trip successful.

That is, until she spotted a girl she recognised from her days at NYADA. Sugar Motta, a talentless harpy with an attitude as rotten as her personality, appeared out of nowhere from behind a pyramid of canned peas. Though it was almost nine at night, she was wearing Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses which clashed horribly against her spotted fur jacket, and her no doubt expensive stilettos made the most infernal sound as she clacked her feet across the floor.

Needless to say, Rachel had never been a fan. The girl had little to no talent of any kind, and yet because her dad was such a big benefactor of NYADA, she'd been given a free ride. She'd never turned up for the extra dance practices, or the vocal coaching sessions that Carmen Tibideaux herself had held for her students, and even though she couldn't string along a sentence without sounding false and pretentious, she'd been given one of the biggest roles in their final year production of Evita.

Miss Berry, bitter? Of course not.

"Could you tell me where the champagne is?" Sugar's nasally voice sent shivers through Rachel's body, and she watched in disbelief as the girl in front of her popped a comically large bubble of gum.

"I don't work here," she sniffed, offended at the very fact that she hadn't been recognised. Sure, they hadn't exactly crossed paths many times while they'd attended NYADA, but _everyone_ was supposed to remember Rachel! She was relying on it so her former classmates would see her on Broadway and think 'wow, I remember when she was just a budding fellow student with dreams too big for her to carry'.

"And?" she asked, popping her gum for a second time. "Where's the champagne?"

"I wouldn't know, considering I'm not an employee."

Sugar folded her arms over her chest, which, by the way, had been paid for by daddy. "Do I know you?" She peered down at the brunette (only because her heels were so high, otherwise they'd be eye to eye and Rachel wouldn't have been so placid). "Did you used to clean the bathrooms at my old house?"

"I most certainly did not!" She felt the tips of her ears burning at the very thought, because while cleaning toilets was a respectable job which required a stronger stomach than one she possessed, it definitely wasn't Rachel's idea of a dream occupation.

She dreaded to think what her fathers would say if the only job she could get was cleaning bathrooms.

"NYADA? I played Evita."

Sugar cocked her head, popping her gum for a very frustrating third time. "Rachel Berry, I remember you. I tried to get my dad to pay someone to get rid of you so I'd get the spotlight, but we couldn't find anyone at such short notice. Sorry, Aspergers."

Rachel began to grind her teeth together as she clung tightly to the basket in her hands. "Charming. I can't stop because I have things to be doing."

"Wait." Sugar fished out a wallet from her purse, and while Rachel wondered briefly if she was going to give her a nice sum of money to help pay for her struggling Broadway dreams, she instead handed out a business card as the fourth pop of her gum made Rachel's ears ring. "Here."

"What's this for?"

The other girl shrugged and gave a coy smile. "If you need work, my house has a lot of bathrooms that need cleaning. Kisses!" She blew her a said kiss before shimmying away down the aisle, leaving Rachel to bubble over like a volcano at the thought of ever having to give in and work for someone like her.

She was Rachel Berry for goodness sake; one day Sugar Motta would be cleaning _her_ bathroom.

**xxi. **Tucked up in the warmth and comfort of her bed, Rachel's eyes flickered with sleep and dreams, and though she'd never admit it to anyone, a line of drool seeped into her pillow as she breathed in and out in a slow, rhythmic fashion.

Sure, it was barely 10pm, but she'd always maintained the same routine; early to bed, early to rise.

When her cell phone began to blare out a Katy Perry song, she jumped awake with a yelp because who _dared_ to interrupt her sleep schedule? Her fathers knew not to contact her after 8pm, and she'd specifically warned Santana (under pain of death) that she wasn't to be disturbed at night.

"Whoever this is, I expect you to call back tomorrow because I'm tired and cranky and not in the mood for polite conversation." She tried her best to sound intimidating, but coupled with a yawn that made most of it inaudible, it didn't exactly have the desired effect.

"_Oh, uh, sorry Rach, I just got off my shift and-"_

Hallelujah! "F-Finn? How did you get my number?"

"_From the agency. Look, I'm sorry, I'll call back tomorrow, I gotta go anyway."_

"Wait!"

The sound of the dial tone made her gulp down her guilt. She tried to call back, but the number was withheld.

She eventually fell asleep at almost three o'clock.

**xxii.** She waited patiently (...okay, maybe _not_ so patiently) for him to call, but nothing.

She tried to brush it off; he was only a client, after all.

A handsome, funny, genuinely nice client.

**xxiii.** Despite being a real employee (she half expected to be fired whenever something went wrong), Rachel had avoided spending time at the agency itself. The facilities were supposed to be impressive, and the girls were supposed to be friendly, but there was something that kept her at bay.

Ah, yes, complete and utter fear. She was well aware she wasn't a conventional beauty (if she could be counted as a beauty at all), and the last thing she needed to scupper her confidence was the knowledge that all of her co-workers were prettier than her.

She wasn't _vain_, not in the least. She made an effort to look her best, but only because it made her feel like she could tackle things head on if she was slightly more presentable.

What she didn't need was to see the other escort options. Rachel knew, from Santana's schedule alone, that she wasn't a popular choice. The agency's website offered the chance to browse through a selection of girls, just like any online site, and it made sense that she often got ignored. With girls like Santana up for grabs, why bother with a big nose and large personality?

It was degrading and hurtful. For every client that she managed to secure, Santana had ten, all begging for more.

She needed the money, she told herself, she really _really_ needed the money.

**xxiv.** Despite kicking and screaming and spitting out her pacifier, Rachel found herself standing in the middle of a crowded room filled with impossibly beautiful women. She felt so out of place amongst such classic glamour, and promising herself to only stay for an hour or so (it was some girl's farewell party), she poured herself a drink of cranberry juice.

"Welcome to Sylvester's!" cheered a voice from the back, and Rachel found herself smiling at the friendly welcome. "I'm Brittany." A blonde girl came forward and stuck out her hand, and after the two of them shook on their new found acquaintanceship, she pointed towards Santana, who was making her way around the room. "Santana's my best friend and she's told me a lot about you."

"Oh, that's... Only good things, I hope," said Rachel with a smile, despite how panicked she felt just imagining what the two of them had discussed.

Brittany shrugged, causing her hair to shimmy on her shoulders. "She called you a fruit."

"A fruit?" she asked, a quizzical frown on her face, "but I'm not gay."

"Neither am I." Brittany bit her lip. "Well, maybe I'm a bicycle instead of, like, a unicycle. But anyway, she kept calling you a prune."

A metaphorical light bulb appeared above Rachel's head as she found herself rolling her eyes. Ah, yes, Santana had mentioned Brittany a few times in passing, and she was just as distracted as Rachel had been led to believe. "I think you mean prude, which I am not, of course."

"When was the last time you had sex?" Brittany gave her the most nonchalant of looks, as if she'd just asked about the weather, or or... or anything other than _sex_. She didn't even know the girl!

"This morning," quipped a voice from behind, and Santana waltzed up towards them with a smirk on her face that was mirrored on Brittany's. "Puck's got stamina, I'll give him that. As for Berry, I'm gonna go with eighteen months."

"I beg your _pardon?_ It has _not_ been that long since I've been intimate with someone!"

"Your vibrator doesn't count."

"I don't own such a thing!"

"Your fingers don't count either."

"You can be incredibly vulgar sometimes."

"And that's why you love me."

Rachel found it difficult to argue with that.

**xxv.** Her pager began to buzz on the cab ride home. The night had been better than expected and she'd had enough alcohol to numb things a little, so when a name appeared on screen, she had to squint three times to try and read it.

_David Karofsky. High school reunion. Details to come._

She sighed as she stared out of the window at the passing New York lights.

No sign of Mr Hudson.

**xxvi.** Standing in the doorway of a fancy looking hotel, Rachel pulled her shawl closer to her body as she checked her watch for the third time in ten minutes. David was _late_, and a lack of punctuality was something she couldn't stand. She'd made the effort to be fifteen minutes early to introduce herself to her client, and yet he didn't have the decency to even appear on time.

Honestly, _men._

It was only when a rather large looking man ran up the stairs of the hotel entrance, huffing and puffing like he'd just taken part in a marathon, that Rachel found herself relaxing a little. While he was bending over, hands on his knees to catch his breath, she cleared her throat and steadied her nerves before holding a glove-covered hand out to him.

"Mr Karofsky I presume? I'm Rachel Berry."

David looked up at her with nothing but fear in his eyes, though as soon as it had appeared, it disappeared with a blink while he took her hand and shook it in his own (thank goodness for her gloves because she could practically feel the sweat pouring from his skin).

"S-sorry I'm late," he wheezed. His cheeks were bright red and his hair ruffled, and along with the fact that his jacket was buttoned up in completely the wrong manner, he gave off a... ah, _desperate_ air about him.

She knew how formidable high school reunions were. He seemed to be no more than a few years older than her, and judging by the way his eyes kept flitting back and forth towards the hotel entrance, he wasn't looking forward to seeing his old classmates.

(At Rachel's first reunion, someone had tried to throw pig's blood on her when she accepted an honorary award for most determined graduate, but since the culprit had been drunk off their ass, they'd thankfully missed).

"Here, let me tidy you up."

Taking a handy-sized comb from her purse, Rachel gently pulled it through David's hair until he didn't look so manhandled. She re-buttoned his jacket and offered him a mint, and once she'd dabbed his face with a handkerchief, he looked much more presentable.

He didn't say a lot, not even a thank you, but she took his gratitude from the way he clung to her arm and kept her close as they finally went in.

The room wasn't very big. A few refreshments were lined up on a table against the back wall, a droll tune played out from the speakers, and small groups of people milled around like they'd rather be anywhere but there. She scanned the guests, eying up potential candidates for small talk, when she found her gaze falling on a particularly tall man who was eating all the cucumber sandwiches.

_Finn_.

"Hey Karofsky, didn't expect to see you here."

Broken out of her reverie, Rachel felt David's grip on her arm tighten as three men approached them, each wearing their high school letterman jackets (she had to try desperately hard not to roll her eyes at that).

She looked up at him as he gulped and forced out a smile.

"Why wouldn't I come?"

One of the men leered at her before 'playfully' punching David, though judging by the way he recoiled, it wasn't very gentle. "Because you caught a bad case of the gays. Last thing any of us heard, you tried to hang yourself when it went public."

_Oh._

"So who's this little fox? She your beard while you're off fucking other fags?"

No, _no_, she wasn't going to stand for such crass, disgusting behaviour. With or without her two gay dads, she was a firm believer in equality for all, and she wasn't going to let some jerks push around her client, no matter how little she knew about him.

"David Karofsky is a brave young man who doesn't need the likes of horrible little men like you to try and ruin his day." Pulling her arm free so she could cross it over her chest, she had half a mind to slap the tallest of the three, though regretfully, violence was never the answer. "My eyes are up here, so please stop staring at my breasts."

One of them opened his mouth to speak, but she would be damned if she let them have a chance to retaliate.

"Is this what you live for, for bullying others? Most imbeciles grow out of it after high school, though judging by the jackets you're sporting, I'd say that you've just reached puberty and your pubic hairs are finally starting to appear. Congratulations!"

She heard David chuckle beside her, unaware of Finn's eyes on her from across the room. Prodding one of the men in the chest, she smiled brightly while he glared at her. "If you're so offended by homosexuals, I applaud your choice of friends. The boy beside you hasn't stopped checking your ass since he came over." Practically beaming, she blew them a kiss while David tried his best to keep his laughter down. "Enjoy the rest of your evening! I hear the sandwiches are to die for."

And with that, she linked arms with her client once more before escorting him out of the building, not acknowledging the shouts of her name as Finn stared after them.

"I'm so sorry for making a scene," she sighed, glancing up at the clock in the hotel lobby as they passed it. "We were barely there for five minutes."

"And a kickass five minutes they were." Stopping before the revolving doors, David shook his head at the same time that the tips of his ears began to burn. "Thank you for doing that. I still have this mental block when it comes to gay jokes and insults, and whenever someone mentions..." He shrugged. "I just wanted to prove to myself that I could go in there and be proud of the fact that I have a boyfriend, that I like men, but it turns out I'm still a coward."

"You're not a coward, David Karofsky." Rachel placed a hand on either side of his face. He was warm, friendly, and she could only see acceptance in his expression, the fear long gone. "I understand how hard it is, and I'm so impressed that you made it this far. Most people would have conceded defeat at the expense of their tormentors, but you didn't."

"Thanks to you," he smiled, and when he engulfed her in an extremely tight hug, she simply hugged him back. "Want to grab a movie?"

"Sounds good to me."

**xxvii.** "Miss Sylvester will see you in her office now."

Rachel closed her eyes and counted to ten as she smoothed out her skirt. The boss wanted to see her.

Why?

She had no idea.

Though the previous night had been a little unconventional to say the least, David had paid in full for her services, and no inappropriate groping had taken place; that had to be a personal best!

Still, at the unforgiving hour of 6am, Rachel had been told that Sue wanted to 'see' her, and that could only mean bad things.

She let herself into the office, noting that the woman in question didn't even look up from whatever smoothie concoction she was making in a handheld mixer.

"Take a seat." She added a spoonful of protein powder to her drink, still not looking in Rachel's direction, as she cleared her throat. "So, your client from yesterday, Mr Karofsky, contacted me."

_Uh oh_.

"He suggested that you deserve a promotion for the way you handled the events that occurred."

Rachel unclenched her jaw and opened her rolled up fists as she shook her head from side to side. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause... Excuse me?"

Only then did Sue look up, and a large smile graced her features. When she was smiling, she looked pretty, beautiful even, and Rachel found herself warming up to the woman a little (it definitely made her seem more human). "He told me exactly what happened at the reunion, and thanks to your quick thinking and courage, you saved him from any humiliation. Well done, kid."

Rachel left her office with tears in her eyes and a sense of pride in her stomach. She was glad that David was okay, and that's all she could have asked for.

The small financial bonus was just the icing on a very, _very_ nice cake.

**xxviii.** Her cell phone buzzed during her morning workout. She paused her motivational 'I don't have issues with my weight but I like to stay in shape' playlist to read it, only to feel her stomach drop in... disappointment?

_you looked pretty at the reunion. sorry i didn't say hi. finn (this isn't my number, just borrowing a friend's phone)._

A friend's phone, great.

Pressing delete, she got back onto her elliptical machine, her enthusiasm long gone as she switched to her 'I'm confused about my feelings for a certain boy and he's sending me mixed signals anyway' playlist.

**xxix.** If she had to pinpoint an exact time when things started to look up, Rachel would have chosen the moment when her pager began to beep every other minute with a new client. For whatever reason, Sue had somehow managed to 'market' her as something special, and that's when the offers started pouring in.

And that's how she found herself accompanying a fireman to an awards event.

And that's how she found herself bumping into Finn at said awards event.

And that's how she found herself watching as he muttered something under his breath and fled the building.

And that's how she found herself watching as he fled the building in a_ very_ sexy fireman's outfit.

_Yowch_.

**xxx.** Why was he bothering her so much? Their session, so to speak, hadn't even lasted an hour, yet she couldn't get his face out of her mind, especially his eyes.

The first time they'd met, they'd been warm and inviting and oh so beautiful. The second time, at David's reunion, she'd only seen a flash of surprise. The third time? Disappointment, plain and simple (that was before he'd disappeared without a trace).

Rachel tried talking to Santana about it, but she wasn't exactly very helpful.

"Go fuck a random and get it out of your system;" that was her stellar advice.

Noah, on the other hand, was the opposite of his girlfriend (though they kept insisting that they weren't exclusive, not that Rachel was interested).

"Maybe he has some shit to deal with," he said with a belch, the smell of beer wafting in the air.

She wrinkled her nose. "So that's why he was so strange with me, because he has... crap to deal with?"

Puck grabbed a handful of nuts and shovelled them down. "I said shit."

"Same thing."

"Yeah, I guess. Just give the guy a chance, he'll probably get in contact with you when he stops being a shy, stubborn bastard."

Rachel was too busy sighing to herself to really listen.

**xxxi.** Whilst catching up with the latest episode of Hoarders as she finished off her last spoonful of dairy-free ice cream, her pager beeped for the tenth time that night with yet another client. She was somehow _fully_ _booked_ for the week, and with great power came great responsibility.

Or rather, with lots of clients came lots and lots of money.

She was getting better with each one. It was all about reading people, about making them feel comfortable and opening them up, and since her first disastrous few attempts, there had been no glitches whatsoever in her day to day routines.

Except when Finn's name flashed up on the screen requesting an escort to a family event. Who was she to say no?

And really, she wasn't allowed to say no unless there was some kind of problem.

But oh, there was a problem alright; how was she supposed to act like she hadn't been hurt by his erratic contact and the cold reception at the awards night?

She licked her spoon clean and bit down on her lip until it split, a single drop of blood falling into the pure whiteness of her ice cream.

She was missing something, but she couldn't figure out what.

**xxxii. **"It's just a family dinner!"

Santana continued to thumb through the rack of knee-high dresses regardless, humming some tune to herself as she popped a piece of gum. "Uh huh."

"I've been to plenty of these." At the look her friend gave her, Rachel sighed. "Okay, fine, I've been to two, but they were simple enough. I acted like the doting girlfriend while their families got excited over the new girl, and then the night ended and I went home with generous tips; it's not a big deal."

"Yeah, for anyone else." Santana popped her gum again, causing Rachel to clench her jaw; it had to be one of her biggest pet peeves. "You like this guy, you've only been out with him once, and he's already introducing you to his parents; hardcore."

Rachel let out an unladylike guffaw that clearly meant she didn't believe such a ridiculous notion (the fact that her cheeks flushed red as she pulled a shy smile was an unrelated issue).

"How 'bout this?" Santana cackled at the look on Rachel's face when she caught sight of the leather cat suit, and instead held out a vintage-style summer dress that was adorned in pretty little cherries.

"That's adorable!" she squealed, immediately snatching it so she could try it on.

Santana leaned against the wall of the changing booth, examining her finger nails. "It's perfect for you 'cause it's a metaphor."

"How so?"

"Cherries. They're a metaphor about how you wish Finn could have popped yours."

She laughed at the uncivilised, un-Rachel-like curses that drifted out of the booth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to all the amazing feedback, I finished this chapter quicker than expected, so cheers to everyone who was nice enough to review :) **

**xxxiii. **An hour before Finn's family event, Rachel found herself back in the same Starbucks as before, though she was a hell of a lot more nervous than the first time. Despite being prepared for his dashing good looks, she felt like a mess just thinking about his face.

Professional, always so professional.

She played with the ends of her hair, which had been painstakingly styled and curled by Santana (the girl had insisted on shaving the majority off because extensions were 'so much easier to deal with', but she'd persevered, and it remained 100% her own), before she let it hang loosely on her bare shoulders.

The circumstances were unusual, but according to her friend, not unheard of. Rather than meeting at the venue, Finn had requested that they go for a coffee first. His vague text had simply said 'to talk about stuff', and whatever that stuff was, Rachel was ready to hear it.

Five minutes passed with no sign of him.

Ten minutes; she sucked in a breath and tried to have faith.

Fifteen.

She stood up, shaking her head in disappointment, only to walk straight into a very firm, toned body.

"Woah, sorry, didn't see you there."

Rachel blinked, offered him a not-so-genuine smile, and seated herself down as she avoided his gaze. "You're late."

"I know, I'm super sorry about that, there was an emergency at the station and I had to help out."

Despite a firm vow to play it cool, Rachel looked up at him, awe in her expression. "So you really are a fireman? Did you save someone's life?"

Finn chuckled (the sound alone made her heart flip flop around in her chest) whilst rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, I am, and I guess so. I was the only one with long enough arms to get the cat out of the tree."

Oh _God_, so he was even good with animals!

Handsome jerk.

"That's very admirable of you." Rachel licked her lips and folded her hands in her lap, wishing she could control the heat in her cheeks. "What's going on, Finn? What were the phone calls, the texts, the way you ran off at the awards ceremony?"

The goofy smile that had played on his lips transformed into a grimace, which made Rachel wonder if she'd said the wrong thing. Either way, she still needed to know, so he'd have to just grit his teeth and deal with it.

"I..." He sighed, tugging on his hair as he looked anywhere but at her face. "Maybe we should talk about this later, we need to get going if we're gonna make it on time."

"The restaurant is around the corner," she snipped. "You can tell me now, otherwise you can attend on your own."

He gulped loud enough for her to hear. "I'm... I was just... _Shy_."

_That _she had trouble believing. Handsome fire fighters didn't need to be shy, not when they saved lives and dazzled girls with their dimpled smiles.

"Uh huh, shy, that's exactly how you acted the first time we met," she deadpanned. Finn just looked glumly at the table.

"I caught myself off guard that time. I was so nervous, but then you were like, really nice, and it was natural, it felt right."

She shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "And what changed?"

"I remembered I was paying for your company, and I felt even more like a failure." He stood up, his body literally shaking with anger, and made to walk away.

Only, Rachel had immensely accurate reflexes, and her fingers closed around his wrist before he had the chance. "Sit down, please."

He hesitated. If he wanted to, he would have had no problem slapping her hand away to run off and leave her, but there was a flash of something across his face, something like determination, and he sat back down in his seat.

A fun fact; his legs were incredibly long, and every now and again, they bumped against Rachel's. The inexplicable goose bumps whenever that happened? Nothing to do with Finn, not at _all_.

"Just... Just forget that this is a service," she started, despite how down and out he looked. "If I can be honest, I've..." She sighed with a shrug; honesty was the best policy, apparently. "I've been hoping that you'd want to see me again, though I didn't expect you to take this long."

His cheeks reddening, he pressed his tongue against the inside of his mouth (if Rachel wanted to press her finger on his cheek to feel it, it was probably just a subconscious thing). "You're a bit full of yourself, aren't you? What makes you think I wanted to see you again?"

Her smile fell at the same time that his did. She felt a tightness in her chest that could only be disappointment, and suddenly, the prospect of being in his presence didn't seem so appealing.

She was such a _foolish_ little girl!

This time it was Rachel's turn to stand, but just as before, Finn grabbed her before she could escape. Yes, she may have shuddered when he took her hand and laced his fingers with hers, and yes, she may have found herself blushing at the way he stared, as if he liked what he saw, but none of that mattered.

"I was joking, I promise." He worried his lip until she reclaimed her seat, but he didn't let go of her hand.

She wasn't complaining, not really.

"Hilarious," she huffed, blinking frantically to quell the familiar feeling of tears behind her lids. "Simply hilarious."

He grimaced. "Nerves. I just didn't think that... You really wanted to see me again? That wasn't just something you say to all your, uh, fancy men?"

Her frown cracked, for a moment. "They're called clients, and no, I don't."

"Wow."

"What?"

Grinning, he shrugged, squeezing her hand. "I just can't see what a girl like you would want to do with me, you know, apart from the fact that I'm paying your wages."

"I have a thing for men in uniform," she whispered, and he winked, as if he was in on her secret seducing plan.

"I don't blame you, I have a pretty awesome ass."

And then everything was sunshine and rainbows.

"Shall we go and face the wrath of my family?"

**xxxiv. **The restaurant they would be dining at was roughly fifteen minutes away (that is, if Rachel power walked, since she had to take more steps than the average New Yorker due to her height), but with her arm tucked in Finn's, she estimated it would take at least half an hour, because come _on_, she needed time to pick up her heart from the sidewalk.

For one thing, she couldn't focus on anything but his eyes. Brown was apparently a common colour, but Finn's were... They were light, warm, _kind_, and whenever he laughed, they crinkled, and his eyelashes brushed effortlessly over his cheeks.

Jackass.

It didn't help that his smile was infectious and his laugh just as bad. Whenever he spoke, she tried to come up with some intelligent answer, but speech was rendered useless by the crooked slope of his goddamn lips.

She couldn't even bear to think about his cute little butt.

"I'm surprised you haven't asked me about where we're going yet," he started, interrupting her less than delicate thoughts (it wasn't _her_ fault that she was imagining eating ice cream off his backside, okay?).

"Oh, I've been before with a friend of mine."

There was that laugh again, and Rachel found herself laughing along, despite having no clue what was so funny. "No, I mean, why I want you to come."

Rolling her eyes, she tutted to herself. "Of course, how silly of me. All I know is that it's a family dinner." She looked up at him, waiting for some terrible revelation (judging by how awkward and embarrassed Finn suddenly looked).

He licked his lips, looked up at the smoggy sky, then back down at her. "It's my baby brother's secret engagement announcement." When Rachel raised an eyebrow, he tilted his head from side to side. "Kurt, my brother, he thinks that none of us know that his boyfriend proposed to him, but since Blaine asked my step-dad for permission, we kinda already do, except we're gonna play along for his sake."

"You have a gay step-brother?"

He chuckled, making the tips of her ears burn. "So you understood that?"

"I think so. Your brother is engaged to a man but as far as we know, we have no idea. Gotcha." At that, she tapped her nose in a conspiring manner, causing Finn to flash her a dumb, incredibly stupid and not at all ridiculously heart-warming grin.

"Right."

"Can I ask you something?"

Sidestepping an old couple who were walking arm in arm in front of them, Finn shrugged. "Go for it."

"Why did you want me to come with you? If you don't mind me asking."

"Nah, it's fine. I uh... Well, I kind of wanted to show my parents, and Kurt, that I'm not as emotionally damaged as they think I am."

Patting his hand, Rachel nodded sympathetically. "The fake girlfriend scenario, I understand. How long have we been dating for?"

"Um... What?"

Operation 'fake girlfriend' was a cinch, and Rachel considered herself a pro. It was all about acting, which she happened to be _rather _good at. With a few details from her client, she was able to play the part of loved-up significant other (which is where the occasional kisses came from, though always always _always _on the cheek). All she needed was a background story to go on.

How long had they been dating? Could they be considered 'serious?' How did the two of them meet? Were they in love?

Whatever the situation, Rachel always nailed it, and she didn't plan on breaking her record.

Besides, pretending to be the girlfriend of someone like Finn... She'd definitely been through worse.

"If your mom asks, which I'm sure she will, she'll want to know how long you've been keeping me a secret. While we're at it, how did we first meet? I think we should stick with Starbucks, since it's rather believable, and though I'm all for fairytales, they don't happen very often."

Clearing his throat, Finn tightened his grip on her arm as they passed a group of teenage boys, who were talking amongst themselves.

"Two months sound good?"

"That's fine, and it gives us a lot of room to work with if she asks any intimate questions." Trying her best to stay professional, she attempted nonchalance, but that had always been her weakest ability. "Are we, ah... sexually intimate?"

"We can be sexually intimate if you're offering," came a voice from behind, and the two of them turned to face one of the hooded boys, who was all but leering in Rachel's direction. "Whaddya say?"

At the end of the day, she was used to it. New York was a haven in some respects and a nightmare in others, and while she was in love with the buildings and the memories and the opportunities, Rachel wasn't as keen on some of the residents. She'd gotten better at dealing with unwanted advances during her time spent there, so puffing out her chest, she took a step forward, only to be shielded by Finn.

"Keep moving, kid, you don't wanna make a scene."

The boy scoffed while some of his friends laughed at Finn's expense. "Who are you, her dad? Fuck off old man, I'm hitting on your tight-assed little daughter, not you."

Everything happened in slow motion, like some kind of bad reality TV show. Finn pounced, literally _pounced_ at the boy who was staring at her boobs, and before she could do anything, he had the stranger up against the wall of a building as he twisted his arm. The boy screamed in pain while his friends disappeared in fright, and she had to press a hand to Finn's back to stop him from hurting the kid too much.

"You, asshole, need to learn how to respect women, especially ones who are way out of your league." His voice was gravelly and furious, and God, _okay,_ she was completely turned on by the very sound.

"Okay, okay, get the fuck off me!"

"Not until you apologise for personifying her."

She may or may not have giggled at his error.

Crying out again, the boy nodded furiously. "I'm sorry!"

"Again."

"I'm _sorry!"_

Letting him go, the boy stumbled away with a curse as he nursed his arm. He opened his mouth, as if to say something else, but thinking better of it, he instead spat in their direction before charging off after his friends.

"Little punk." His eyes worried, his brow wrinkled, Finn placed a hand under Rachel's chin, their faces so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin. "You okay?"

"I've dealt with much worse than that delinquent, but yes, I am. Thank you, Finn."

He offered her his arm with only five minutes to go until they arrived at their destination, and she practically choked on thin air when he leaned down to whisper "Sexual intimacy sounds good" in her ear.

See?

_Jackass._

**xxxv. **"We're here with a party of six, under Hudson-Hummel?"

Rachel swayed from side to side as Finn spoke to the maître d. She was used to it, of course she was, which didn't explain the butterflies in her stomach. It was probably something to do with the teeny tiny crush that she had on Finn, but above all else she was professional; everything was going to be fine.

He led her to the table (keeping a hand on the small of her back, on the bow that held her dress together), and nudged her gently when she was too busy staring at him to notice that she was about to walk straight into his mother.

"Finn!"

The small woman launched herself into her son's arms while Finn chuckled and kissed her head with a shy "Hi mom," leaving Rachel to simply stand beside him and watch with slight jealousy. She'd never had a mom, not really, and it never seemed to get easier, no matter how many birthdays passed.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your pretty little friend?"

Rachel blushed and turned her head, only to have Finn tilt it back towards them with the tip of his finger.

"Mom, Burt, this is Rachel, my girlfriend."

Only then did she notice the bald headed man sitting at their table, and she offered them both one of her show stopping smiles.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Mr and Mrs Hudson-Hummel, especially when I've heard so much about you."

Mrs... Finn (why hadn't she asked him what her name was? That was a rookie mistake) rubbed her arm as her eyes glazed over. "Sweetie, call me Carole." Carole, right, she could remember that. "I'm so glad to hear that Finn is dating again, and you're more than welcome tonight. He usually gets so bored when Kurt and Blaine get talking about scarves and bowties, so at least he'll have you to distract him."

Rachel giggled at the same time that Burt chuckled under his breath, leaving Finn to shake his head in embarrassment. "I just don't understand how there can be so many types of tie."

"And you still have so much to learn."

All eyes were on the two men that joined them, and Rachel watched with a fond smile as Finn engulfed one of them in his arms. He roughed up his coiffed hair, which earned him a playful slap on the shoulder, and before she knew it, someone pulled her into a hug which sucked the air out of her lungs.

"Who's that girl that Blaine's squeezing to death?"

"Finn's mysterious girlfriend, obviously," said Blaine with a tut, and once he'd let go of Rachel, he held out his hand. "Blaine Anderson, and it's so very nice to meet you."

"Rachel Berry." She smiled and shook it in her own, well aware that everyone was watching. Finn kept giving her this look, a look which she was having trouble deciphering, but she persevered nonetheless.

"Rach, this is my annoying baby brother, Kurt."

Kurt snorted. "I resent that, but regardless, I'm sure it's a pleasure to meet you."

Everyone took their seats, and naturally, Rachel was placed beside Finn, who instantly rested a hand on her knee as he smiled over at his mom. She doubted it was for Carole's benefit (since there was no way for her to see), and while she was supposed to stop him so he wouldn't get any ideas, come _on_, he was gorgeous! She hadn't any real action in too long, so who was she to deny some innocent flirting?

Yes, there was maybe the possibility that he'd take advantage of her, but a fireman who saved cats from trees? She was going to take her chances.

Once everyone had ordered their drinks (Rachel decided to stick with orange juice, and she beamed at Finn when he did the same), there was a lot of small talk until Kurt cleared his throat and directed his attention towards her.

"So, Rachel, what do you do?" he asked as he took a bread roll from the basket on the table. He began to pick at it like a crow pulling meat from a fresh carcass, and for a moment, she was too engrossed in such a horrible metaphor that she almost forgot to reply; she had a feeling she was going to be that carcass.

Shudder.

"I'm currently between jobs," she admitted with a sigh. "I'm a NYADA graduate looking for my big break on Broadway, and-"

"Broadway?" Kurt stared at her, jaw slack and eyes wide, and Rachel blushed at the attention (it had _nothing_ to do with the fact that Finn kept running a thumb over her knee).

"Yes, I'm a big fan."

Carole clapped her hands together while her step-son's gaze remained transfixed. "It's one of Kurt's biggest loves."

"Along with Blaine and customising other people's wardrobes," chuckled Burt, and Rachel bit her lip with a smile.

"I'm sure we'll be best friends in no time."

Slamming his glass of white wine onto the table, the drink spilling over the edges with a slosh, Kurt leaned forward and gave her one of the most intense stares she'd ever been witness to. "Favourite musical?" His upper lip quivered as he quirked an eyebrow, and despite Blaine's lack of subtly when he whispered "Play nice!", he didn't look away.

"Funny Girl, without a doubt." She waited nervously to find out if she'd just lost her new friend, only to have Kurt cheer in surprise.

"Marry this girl, Finn, otherwise I will."

Blaine cleared his throat and began to fiddle with his bowtie while Rachel felt the tips of her ears burn at Kurt's words. Everyone knew what was coming before Blaine licked his lips and stood up, but they played a lot all the same. "Speaking of marriage... Kurt and I are engaged!"

To their credit, Rachel had definitely seen worse acting during her time at NYADA (read; Sugar Motta). Carole was a little too shrill and Burt's face a little too red, but Finn was very convincing. He looked between his brother and Blaine with a blank smile before he let out a happy laugh and shook both of their hands.

"Congrats, I'm so happy for you." Narrowing his eyes, he pointed at his brother's fiancé with his best intimidating glare. "I'm warning you now, Anderson, if you break Kurt's heart, I'll break your legs."

An awkward silence followed. Blaine gulped and looked down at his coke while Kurt gawped like a fish out of water. Burt and Carole both gave each other a worried half smile, and it wasn't until Rachel burst into laughter that the rest of them followed suit.

"You couldn't hurt a fly," she cooed, leaning into his side as she nuzzled his cheek with her nose, and sure, yes, while she was doing it for appearance's sake, it felt... real.

The sparkle in Finn's eyes even looked real.

"Alright, enough with the stomach churning PDA, I want to order soon." Kurt ummed and aahed over the menu while Blaine made quiet suggestions (each of which were shot down), and while Carole chastised Burt for even considering a greasy burger, Rachel and Finn were given the chance to talk amongst themselves.

"You feeling out of your comfort zone yet?" he asked softly. She opened her mouth to reply, but when he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she found herself speechless. She instead just shook her head and offered him a bright smile, which didn't go unnoticed by his mother.

"You two are so adorable," sighed the older woman, and Rachel's cheeks burned with the compliment. She enjoyed the fake girlfriend bit, simply because she got to experience another family, if only for a little while. She loved her fathers, of course she did, but she still missed a female influence and was more than happy to indulge herself when the occasion called for it.

Burt took a sip from his sparkling cider. "How did you meet?"

"It's not a particularly romantic story, I'm afraid." She grinned up at Finn, who shrugged with his own smile.

"Yeah, but the outcome was pretty awesome, so does it matter that we met at Starbucks?"

"A Starbucks, really?" Kurt's voice was suddenly dry and unforgiving, and Finn squeezed her knee in response. "That's strange, because you don't even like coffee."

"I was walking by and I saw a beautiful girl sitting by herself; can you blame me for giving it a go?"

Rachel sucked in a tiny gasp as his mom made awwing sounds.

He thought she was beautiful?

No, of course he didn't. They were doing their best to pretend to be attracted to one another, and as his (fake) girlfriend, something would be amiss if he didn't find her pretty.

He hadn't called her pretty though, he'd called her _beautiful_.

"How did you and Blaine meet?" she finally asked, and Kurt rolled his eyes as Blaine's face lit up.

"At the Gap! You see-"

The story lasted a little too long for Rachel's tastes, but she did her best to appear interested (despite Finn yawning loudly beside her). Blaine blabbered on and on about some jean jacket that he'd had his heart set on, only for Kurt to snatch it out of his hand and tell him that he couldn't commit such a fashion travesty.

"Did you work there?" she asked, a crinkle between her eyebrows.

"No, but I could _not_ watch such a handsome boy buy something so ridiculous."

The table shared a laugh, and as they took it in turns to order their meals, Rachel found herself studying the couples in front of her.

Burt and Carole were a classic, wonderful example of being happily married. They weren't overly affectionate (they were in a restaurant with their children, after all), but the smiles they shared said everything. They were comfortable, at home with one another, and there was no doubt that they were in love. They reminded Rachel of her daddies, and for a second, she was struck with a homesick pang.

Kurt and Blaine, on the other hand, were something else, something that she couldn't put her finger on. They looked happy, sure, but every now and again, there was a distance between them, no matter how close they were sitting. Blaine seemed to switch off when Kurt talked about his job, and Kurt returned the favour when Blaine brought attention to his old high school glee club.

But heck, what did she know? They were probably just being reserved because there was a stranger at their table.

Then there was Finn. Whenever she caught him staring, she was reminded of his step dad and the way that he looked at Carole. It was as if she'd hung the moon, as if she was the most precious thing on Earth...

Let's just say that Finn was a very good actor.

Their food came and went, and with fully stomachs, everyone seemed to chill out and relax. The conversation died down to one word answers, and when Kurt announced that he had an early start the next day, they decided to call it a night.

"Don't be a stranger, sweetie," said Carole as she kissed Finn's cheek. He quickly wiped at his face with a playful pout, and she smacked his arm with a laugh. "And you, Rachel... Thank you."

She blanched and looked quickly at Finn, who was too busy talking to Kurt to realise anything was wrong. "I'm sorry, but what are you thanking me for?"

"For giving Finn his heart back. I haven't seen him so happy in a long time, so thank you, honey." She wrapped Rachel in one of the nicest, tightest hugs she'd ever experienced, and she savoured it for as long as possible, that security, that warmth, that perfume that smelt of love and happiness and _mom. _"We can't wait to see you again."

Her stomach dipped; she hated being a disappointment.

**xxxvi. **Strictly speaking, it wasn't allowed.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. Texting was permitted, so long as it was precise, to the point, and had relevance to any upcoming meetings. Fancy dinners in restaurants were charged by the hour; texts were free.

Therefore, if Sue knew that Rachel had been texting back and forth with Finn until the early hours of the morning, she probably would have had a heart attack (and rumour was that the woman had endured three in the last year).

_i can't believe it's nearly 6am... i've gotta feeling that my phone bill is gonna be killer. i'd talk to you all day if i could but i gotta go into the station in a few hours. thanks rach, for everything. you were an awesome fake girlfriend._

_That's what I do best! Though actually, singing is what I do best. You're very welcome Finn; I had a lovely time. Stay safe!_

_will you sing for me sometime?_

_You mean you want to see me again? _

_duh._

_I guess I should start charging double ;)_

_you're worth it. goodnight x_

_Goodnight Finn, sweet dreams xxxx_

**xxxvii. **He only requested her services a couple of times after that.

In which they went to see an overly cheesy romantic comedy.

In which they went to the zoo to see the adorable baby lions.

In which they spent a lot of time at Starbucks just... _talking_.

It was nice.

Way too nice.

She was pretty sure her heart was starting to beat to the rhythm of _Finn Finn Finn Finn._

_Shit shit shit shit._

**xxxviii.** It was an uncharacteristically warm night when she received a new page alerting her of a date with Finn. She was to meet him in Central Park by Bow Bridge, and all she needed to bring was her appetite.**_  
_**

She was nervous, as always, but with Finn it was a _good_ kind of nervous, the one that she used to feel before an audition or performance. It set her soul on fire, that anticipation, that recognition...

It was a shame she didn't feel it more often.

As she hummed to herself whilst picking out an outfit (she eventually went with a simple blue dress and white shawl), Rachel was hit with inspiration.

Of course, why hadn't she thought of it sooner? She could perform for Finn! Granted, it wouldn't be the same as singing on stage to a standing ovation, but honestly, she'd take any kind of appreciation at this point.

(She'd once performed for her super, though he hadn't given her quite the response she'd anticipated; it probably had something to do with the fact that he'd been trying to fix her broken toilet at the time).

Her biggest issue was _what_; what would catch Finn's attention? She tried not to dwell on the voice in the back of her mind that said 'a low cut top' because he was just a boy, and that kind of behaviour was to be expected. It wasn't such a terrible thing if he checked her out now and again, since it wasn't as if he objectified her, or ever tried to push his luck and steal a kiss (or a handful of butt).

She bit her lip as she mentally searched through her Broadway repertoire, but the more she thought about it, the sillier it seemed. Kurt would be more likely to enjoy such a thing, and since Finn had openly admitted that he'd never seen a show before, he'd probably left confused.

Oh how she wanted to take him to see his first show! Unfortunately, it wasn't for the escort to decide on what they did because Finn was paying for her company, and she couldn't very well demand that he take her somewhere he didn't want to go.

Deciding just to wing it when she got there, she hailed a cab and pulled her shawl around her, despite how warm she was. It probably had something to do with the weather.

And the fact that she was meeting up with a certain someone.

**xxxix. **Taking slow steps through Central Park, Rachel allowed herself to enjoy the serenity of the location. Ever since moving to New York, she'd never really given herself the opportunity to simply take a day off and appreciate the city. With school and auditions and work, she'd neglected herself, and she made a mental reminder to change that when she could.

Picking up the pace a little when a homeless man started making chicken noises at her, she let out the smallest of sighs when she saw Finn standing on the bridge, gazing over at the water; he wouldn't let her get killed by a crazy person.

She waited for one of her favourite parts of their 'dates'; when he saw her. Call her presumptuous and narcissistic (she'd certainly heard it all before), but she knew that Finn found her attractive by the way that he looked at her. His eyes would widen and his lips would pull into a goofy smile, and every single time, he'd try not to stare at her breasts.

He'd always fail, too.

It didn't matter though. For one thing, it was against the rules, etc etc etc, and for another, friends were allowed to find their friends attractive. Take Puck for example! He was um... Well, he had a lovely... You know that Mohawk? It was very _straight _and well kept, which was incredibly sexy, possibly, to Santana maybe.

He just wasn't her type, that was all! But she could appreciate his 'hotness', especially considering he had some of the nicest arms she'd ever seen.

(Success, a compliment that was actually true!).

Trying to remember why she was thinking about Puck's arms with Finn standing right there, she pulled her in for a hug, even if it was only briefly.

"Hey Rach," he beamed, that goofy, adorable, _super_ sweet smile on his face. "You look awesome."

"Thank you!" Looking down at her feet to compose herself, she smiled up at him and ran a hand down his chest. "I like your suit, but aren't you warm in it?"

"Roasting," he chuckled. He held out his arm like a true gentleman, and holding on with both hands, the two of them took a slow walk through the park, not a word spoken.

It wasn't uncomfortable. On the contrary, it felt right, a calmness in the moment that put them at ease. She liked that about Finn; he wasn't always trying to impress her with silly stories or overdone compliments.

"Shit!"

Okay, well, it was usually comfortable and serene. Finn unhooked his arm as he ran towards a random tree, and while Rachel bit her lip in confusion, she watched as the tall boy started in search of something.

"Do you need any help?" she called, but he ignored her as he continued to curse to himself. It was only as she gazed over her to shoulder to see if they were alone that she saw the chicken man from earlier, carrying what looked like a picnic basket and blanket, along with some candles that were stuffed in his pockets, and a bunch of tulips that were being crushed in his hands.

She should have been mad, or sad, or slightly perturbed, but once a small giggle escaped her lips, there wasn't anything she could do to stop the onslaught of laughs that reverberated through her body and alerted Finn of the situation. He stood beside her, dazed, as they watched the man stuff a candle into his mouth.

"They were lemon flavoured and everything."

He had to hold her up as she cried with laughter.

**xl.** "I've had a lovely time tonight, despite the rocky start."

Finn grimaced as she squeezed his arm, though he wore a grin all the same. They'd taken to simply sitting on a bench for the rest of the night, sharing stories and secrets like they were the oldest of friends.

"I'm glad, at least. I have too, but I kinda always do when we hang out." Leaning back against the seat, he looked up at the sky, a question on his lips that she figured he was too frightened to ask.

"I have a surprise for you," she whispered. She didn't mean for her voice to come out shaky, but the thought of singing in front of him suddenly seemed like an impossible feat, not to mention a personal one. Aside from auditions and performances in her school's glee club, Rachel hadn't sung for anyone before (her dads didn't count). What would he think? It was one thing to constantly convince yourself you were good enough, but this was different; this was real.

Taking Finn's hands in her own, she closed her eyes, sucked in a breath, and sung an a capella version of 'The Only Exception'. It wasn't her conventional style and it wasn't something she'd sung a lot of, but in the moment, it felt right.

When she finally opened her eyes, she was certain that Finn was going to kiss her.

"Incredible."

He hugged her instead, and she was more than happy with that kind of reception.

**xli. **It was three in the morning when Rachel let herself into Santana's apartment with the spare key hidden under the mat (she'd really have to talk to her friend about personal safety). Twenty minutes previous, a text had woken her up; '_life fucking sucks'._

That was it, that was the entirety of the message, but Rachel would have been irresponsible and selfish to ignore it. After battling with her inner demons (aka the ones that begged her to stay in the warmth of her bed), she caught a cab to Santana's place, hoping that she wasn't drunk off her ass.

The reality was probably worse. As soon as she stepped inside the apartment, Rachel was verbally assaulted by a string of Spanish slurs that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. There were tissues everywhere, along with empty boxes of chocolate and a few too many DVD cases that all had the same thing in common; heartbreak.

In the midst of the emotional mess sat Santana, splayed across the floor as she alternated between weeping hysterically and cursing under her breath. She barely acknowledged Rachel's presence, and only continued to rip up the soggy tissues in her lap.

"Santana, hey, you're going to be okay."

Rachel actually had no idea if that was true. Because of her lack of friends over the years, she'd never developed the suitable 'comforting' skill, since she'd had no one to care for in their moment of need. In fact, the closest she'd gotten to helping someone feel better was her daddy after his favourite contestant was eliminated from American Idol, which wasn't much to draw on.

She rooted around the floor for a dry tissue and proceeded to dab at her friend's cheeks to try and mop up some of the smeared mascara. It scared her to see Santana so vulnerable. She was the strong, hardened one, and if something had managed to hurt her so badly, how was Rachel supposed to cope when faced with a similar situation?

"What happened?"

"H-h-he broke up with me." Santana wailed into her hand while using the other one to grab a couple of chocolates, which she shovelled into her mouth like there was no tomorrow.

"Why? Did he... Was there any reason?"

Only then did Santana sober up long enough to stare Rachel down with her red-rimmed eyes. "What do you think? The job, Dopey, it's always the fucking job." Spitting the chocolates into a paper bag beside her, she wiped her lips against the back of her hand, smearing it over her skin. "He said that he couldn't stand the thought of guys pretending to own me when I was _his!_" She let out a terrifying screech that made Rachel wince before slamming her fist onto the hardwood floor. "Misogynistic jerk! It's my body, and I'll do whatever the hell I want with it!"

Then she was sick all over the floor, and while Rachel gathered cleaning supplies, she was sure she'd soon be joining her.

**xlii.** By four o'clock, Rachel had managed to make huge progress on the state of the apartment (and the state of Santana). Thankfully blessed without a gag reflex, she was able to clean up the room with little to no fuss, though her friend was rather more difficult to handle when she kept trying to slap Rachel away.

She offered her tea, but she wasn't interested in that, or any kind of variation of hot drink that was available to her. Rachel thought about offering some kind of alcoholic beverage to boost her spirits, but the idea of babysitting a drunken Santana Lopez wasn't exactly an appealing one.

No, what she needed was some good, honest advice.

"We should talk this out."

Rachel sat down beside her friend on her couch, where Santana was stretched right out, occasionally rubbing her stomach (something to do with too much chocolate).

Right, a firm statement, good start.

"Fuck off."

Not such a great response, but thank goodness she was persistent!

"Maybe we should compare yours and Noah's relationship with mine and Finn's. You see, yours may have been doomed from the start if you'd bothered to read the signs. Mine, however, is nothing of the sort, and-"

Santana slapped her right across the face. The noise rang in her ears. Her eyes focused in and out as her body quivered in place. Tears lingered.

She didn't even look sorry.

"You and Finn are a joke! He's still paying you to see him because he's got some stupid crush, and you're naive enough to think that it could work." She threw her hands in the air, causing Rachel to flinch. "This isn't Pretty Woman! Some rich, handsome douchebag isn't going to sweep you off your feet and treat you like a princess, and until you learn that, you're screwed." She pointed to the door. "Get out. I thought you were my friend, but a friend wouldn't just dismiss the only guy I've ever loved."

Rachel left without another word. She pressed autodial as she slumped into the elevator, and when Finn answered, voice sleepy and unsure, she burst into tears and told him they were over.

The sad thing was, she was only just beginning to realise that they hadn't ever really started in the first place.

**xliii. **Her phone didn't stop ringing until she pulled out the battery and hid it under her pillow. Amongst the countless voicemails and missed calls, hundreds of texts flooded her inbox, all basically saying the same thing (none of which were from Santana).

_i'm sorry that i did something to offend you rach but can we talk, face to face?_

_look, i get that it's probably a really awkward situation for you but i can't lose you, not now. can we still be friends?_

_do you hate me?_

_you haven't returned any of my calls so i guess you probably do. i don't blame you, i don't, i'm just sorry that_

_never mind_

_sorry_

The pain in her chest didn't let her reply to any of them. Finn she would have to deal with later...

Eventually.

Maybe.

(She was seriously considering changing her number just so she didn't have to face him, but she liked to think she was more mature than that).

No, she had to have her priorities, and everyone knew it was sisters before misters. She had some bridges to rebuild with Santana, and no matter how much she found herself pining for Finn, she had to be strong.

She could do strong, of course she could.

**xliv. **Making her way into the agency building, Rachel smiled faintly at the girls that passed her in the hallways, offering small 'good mornings' and little waves of her hand when she managed to feel up to it. She'd completely forgotten that it was the first Tuesday of the month, which meant that her mission to get Santana to love her again had to be put on hold.

The first Tuesday meant employee bonding time, which was about as fun as it sounded.

Everyone that worked at Sylvester's was required to attend an hour long meeting that allowed for the airing of any gossip, the discussion of any clients, and any general chatter that cropped up. Rachel had so far contributed little in the previous meetings, but knowing that Santana was there, she had a speech prepared in her head.

One by one, the girls (and the few guys that were employed, such as Artie and some boy called Jacob) filed into one of the bigger rooms of the building, each claiming a space on the floor to be seated.

Ah, yes, that was another thing; everyone had to sit crossed legged on the floor, since someone had told Sue that it made for a more productive session.

Honestly, she should have been running a gossip column fuelled by some of the things that they came out with. One woman had to stop herself laughing three times throughout the telling of a story, which involved one of her clients asking for unusual requests.

"And then he handed me this freaking _dog_ collar, and told me that he was allergic to animals, but he'd always wanted a pet."

Sue tutted to herself as the girls around her laughed.

"What did you do?" asked Brittany, wide-eyed and inquisitive.

"I sat when he told me to and I ate the treats out of his goddamn hand." At the multiple gasps around the room, she shrugged. "His tip is gonna pay my rent for three months, so I ain't ashamed."

Rachel rolled her eyes as they gave their customary round of applause. The things some women would do for money!

...

Yes, okay, if a client asked her to do the same for a generous price, she'd probably cave too.

Desperate times, desperate measures.

The conversation carried on much the same. Girl after girl relayed their own horror stories, though they weren't allowed to name names (confidentiality was still important, even amongst co-workers).

With only fifteen minutes to go, and during Brittany's telling of the time she found an injured sewer rat on the sidewalk, Santana appeared from nowhere, completely disregarding the glare emanating from Sue.

"You didn't keep it, did you?" asked one of the girls in horror, and Brittany nodded eagerly.

"Norman was doing really well on his lobster diet, but Lord Tubbington must have been jealous because he swallowed him in one gulp."

"I'm gonna have to stop you there," said Sue, and the room full of tittering and giggles became silent. "Lopez, where were you?"

Taking her regular spot beside Brittany, she sipped from the coffee cup in her hand like she really didn't give a damn (and Rachel had a feeling she didn't). "Trying to put my life together after my jackass of a boyfriend tried to dump me last night."

Rachel's head shot up, and forgetting her rule about being quiet and respectful during their meetings, she bit her lip until it stung. "Tried to dump you? You were crying this morning because you insisted you were going to live alone and die alone in a pit of despair!"

In a rare moment of vulnerability, there was a flash of something in Santana's eyes, and Rachel realised she'd overstepped the line. "Right, yeah, I did say that, but then you had the balls to say that what me and Puck had meant fuck all compared to you and-"

She'd been expecting it, really. If Santana had let slip that Rachel had a thing for one of her clients, she'd have been forced to hand in her resignation. She wouldn't have blamed her, not really. She deserved it, deserved that humiliation, but it didn't come, even if the two of them weren't on speaking terms.

She wasn't sure she'd ever been more grateful for something in her life.

Sue pressed a finger to her lips as she narrowed her eyes slightly. "Since your tardiness interrupted a... _thrilling_ story about a rat, I expect you're going to make up for it by telling us about your boyfriend?"

Santana finished her drink, licked her lips, then flicked her hair over her shoulder, all eyes on hers (with Artie's trained on her breasts). "He tried to break up with me because he was jealous about this escorting shit."

There was a murmur of acknowledgement and sympathy around her, and even Sue's face softened at the admission.

"Said he couldn't handle sharing me, not when I flaunted myself off to everyone. He yelled, I yelled, I went back to my apartment and ate _way _too much chocolate, and when I was about to leave for this meeting, he called, apologised, and told me he didn't want us to be apart." Clearing her throat, she looked down into her lap while Brittany squeezed her knee. "He asked me why I put up with this, and my shifts at the bar, and I told him I needed the money for college. He said he understood, that he'd help in any way he could, and then he came over and we fucked it all out."

"Awwwh!" cooed Brittany, tears in her eyes.

"Yeah yeah yeah, alright, I'm sick of listening to you all so get back to work and we'll do this again next month."

Rachel rubbed her legs to get rid of the stiffness as she wobbled and stood up, but by the time she was ready to corner Santana and apologise for her behaviour, her (ex)friend had already left, arm in arm with Brittany.

Her pager flashed with the name 'Finn Hudson', and after a quick talk with the secretary, she turned him down and focused on keeping it together until she was back in her apartment.

**xlv. **Of all the places to go in New York, it probably wasn't the best idea to take a casual trip to 'their' Starbucks, but Rachel was in the neighbourhood, and long story short, she couldn't keep herself away. It was their thing, their (commercialised) hideaway, and though she felt a loneliness in her bones as she sat in their spot, she managed to stick around long enough to order herself a drink.

"Mind if I join you?"

She looked up weakly at the annoyingly handsome face of Finn Hudson, and unable to deny him anything, she offered an even weaker nod as she sunk back into her seat.

"Am I allowed to talk to you, off the clock? I can pay you, if you want." To make good on his word, he fished his wallet out of his jacket, though she wrapped her fingers around his before he could give her anything.

"Just this once, it's free" she warned, despite the lack of conviction in her voice. He gave her a dimpled smile at that, and she felt like kicking him (_hard_) under the table. "We can't do this anymore. We need... boundaries. We've gotten too comfortable, and it's, um, against the rules!"

It wasn't, she was just a coward.

"Against the rules to what?"

"Meet up so much. You're only allowed to hire an escort a certain amount of times."

Slowly, Finn nodded, not at all convinced by her disastrous lying. "O...kay. Well how many times is that?"

"I don't know, I'll have to get back to you." She played with the napkin on the table to avoid looking at Finn's grin; the smug bastard obviously knew something was up, and while she wanted things to continue the way they were, Santana's words kept ringing in her ears.

When she stopped to think about it, it _was_ pretty ridiculous, but then again, so was the job itself.

"So..."

"Just get it over with."

He chuckled slightly, causing butterflies to take flight in her stomach. "Right. Do you hate me, Rach?"

He probably thought he hid it well, that insecurity in his face, but if she was good at something, it was reading him like a book. He smiled to hide his worry and his eyes crinkled to hide the guilt, but she could see right through him, heart and all.

"If you think that, maybe you don't really know me."

He definitely couldn't hide his grimace. "Sometimes I don't think I do. You have this, like, wall around you that protects you from pain, but it also shields you from happiness, too." Gulping, Finn rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, probably because he could see the unshed tears in her eyes. "Sometimes, when you're talking about Broadway and stuff, a few bricks start to crumble and I get a glimpse of the real you, but you fix up the wall so fast that I end up wondering if I ever got to see you at all."

"I didn't peg you for a hypocrite."

Finn furrowed his brow as he rested his elbows on the table (she found comfort in the fact that his shirt was unironed, though why she couldn't say). "Uh, what?"

"You may talk about walls and bricks, but you're just as guarded. Yours isn't a wall, though; you're surrounded by mirrors, reflecting back on whoever you're sharing company with."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes," she countered, crossing her arms over her chest. "With your mom, you're happy and warm like she is, and with your step-dad, you're more reserved and quietly confident. You won't admit it, but when you're with Kurt, you're slightly more open, even _flamboyant_, and with me, you're..."

He started to lean forward even more, enough for her to see that his eyes were sparkling with the tiniest of smiles playing on his lips. "I'm what, exactly?"

"Just as damaged as I am," she finished. He looked taken aback, but she was only relaying the truth, even if he didn't want to hear it.

"Isn't that a good thing? Shouldn't I be able to fix you?"

"Who says I need fixing?"

And with that, like the true diva she was, Rachel stormed out of Starbucks with her head held high, despite the fact that she'd accidentally tucked her skirt into her panties when she'd been getting ready that morning, giving the world a rather excellent view of her ass.

**xlvi. **She sent a good night text to Santana, as she always did, and for the first time in weeks, she got a reply.

_FUCK OFF DOC, I'M BANGING MY BF._

Definitely progress.

**xlvii. **Five minutes later, she sent one to Finn, just to be polite.

His reply made her earns burn; she hadn't imagined him to have such a potty mouth (and if she was being honest, his dirty words _might_ have made her all hot and bothered, but she'd never admit that to anyone).

**xlviii. **When her sixth month escorting anniversary rolled around, Rachel was given her most important client to date. She'd met with all kinds of people with all kinds of contacts, but the mayor's son was definitely the cherry on top. As part of his 21st birthday celebrations, Sam Evans was to take her out to a new club that was opening in the city. It was supposed to be a low key, subdued event, but just to ensure she was fully prepared, Rachel had worn one of her... _sluttier_ dresses, just in case she found herself grinding up against the boy.

Santana had called to congratulate her on making it big. The phone call hadn't lasted long (twelve seconds in total, actually), but Rachel appreciated it immensely. She needed that, that confidence that had deserted her, because this was the real deal. The pay was going to be good, the contacts even better, and after rambling on and on about her cat over the phone, Brittany had whispered "The boy's super hot too, so it wouldn't be so bad if he tried to grope you."

She tried to put Finn to the back of her mind.

(It wasn't so easy).


	3. Chapter 3

**A shout out as always to the fabtastic people who read and review! It's bumpy ride time, so feedback would be super duper. **

**xlix.** On an infinite list of things that she needed to do before she turned thirty, Rachel wanted to ride in a limousine (preferably to the Tonys). There was something so glamorous about the secrecy and elegance of such a vehicle, which is why when said mode of transport pulled up outside her apartment building, she swore she was having heart palpitations.

It didn't hurt that the man that emerged was an absolute _god_. With his floppy, boy band blonde hair and his adorably large lips, Rachel found herself practically swooning as he took her hand and kissed it softly with a smile.

"You look beautiful."

She managed a dopey grin, but that was all she could offer him.

However, the drive was awkward, to say the least. Usually she was good at reading people, the body language and the appearance and the smiles, but Sam didn't seem to give anything away. He kept shooting her bashful smiles, but she put that down to nerves; at least he seemed as giddy as she did.

When they finally made it after eighteen and a half minutes of silence, he helped her out of the car as he led her towards the entrance of the club, their arms linked like they were the best of friends (or lovers).

Truth be told, the euphoria at his cuteness had soon worn off, and Rachel wanted nothing more than for the night to be over.

Maybe it was the realisation that his blonde hair wasn't as _brown_ as it should have been. Maybe it was the lack of crooked smiles that his lips could offer (and a lack of dimples). Maybe it was because he wasn't overly tall.

Maybe it was because his name began with an S instead of an F.

They were admitted quickly, ahead of one of the biggest lines she'd ever seen, and as soon as they stepped into the club, the two of them both seemed to recoil.

Bright lights.

Loud music.

Lots of sweaty bodies.

"Looks... fun," Sam said, voice wavering with his smile. "My dad told me that it would be more- Never mind. Shall we dance, maybe?"

He held out one of his hands, and with a tight lipped grimace, she took it as he led her to the dance floor. She'd seen worse, and it wasn't as if they had to spend the _entire_ night dancing. Besides, the cocktail menu looked appealing. Sure, she didn't _usually _drink whilst with clients, but he was the _mayor's_ son! He would no doubt be drinking until he couldn't see straight, and she was entitled to do the same.

After some light dancing.

(And by light, she meant watching as Sam showed her his infamous body rolls that made her feel slightly nauseous).

It was worse when he began to show her his thrusting techniques, his hips jutting out in time with the dull beat of the music, but ever the professional, Rachel cheered him on relentlessly, ignoring other girls who tried to steal Sam away.

To prove a point to anyone watching (though mainly to herself), Rachel decided to just go with the flow. Ordering a shot, she downed it in one before joining in with Sam's thrusts, which soon turned into some of the dirtiest dancing she'd ever been witness to. His hands, resting on her waist, kept travelling down to steal the occasional squeeze of her butt, though she wriggled away every time he tried. He kept whispering things in her ear, too, things that didn't suit his rather innocent face, and the crudeness of his words seemed out of character. When he hissed about the things he would do to her 'pussy', she excused herself to order one of the biggest cocktails on offer.

She needed a breather. Normally she wouldn't stand for such behaviour, but Sue had made it her mission to constantly remind her of the importance of the client. Though not involved in politics in any way himself, Sam's dad was clearly a very important man, and it wouldn't be good for the agency if she reported him because of a few hormone-driven slurs.

At least three girls flocked around him as he danced on his own, shaking his body to the music while Rachel sucked slowly on the straw between her teeth. There was something off, something she couldn't quite fathom, and she knew it was going to bug her for the rest of the night unless she figured it out.

However, with every sip of cocktail she found herself caring less and less. She should have relieved Sam of one particular cougar who was practically hanging from around his neck, but she was too busy daydreaming about Finn. She hoped he was okay without her.

That sounded incredibly conceited, but he was a rather sensitive soul, and if he'd liked her even half as much as she liked him, he was probably missing her too.

Oh yeah, she was definitely missing him alright.

Especially when she finished her drink and headed back to the dance floor.

At least the alcohol had loosened her up a bit. She didn't mind rubbing her body against Sam's so much when everything was blurry and warm, and she pretended not to hear when he talked about motor boating her tits.

It was fine, it was his birthday, he was allowed to let loose.

Still, maybe she was a little _too_ loose. Rachel stumbled in her heels, almost knocking over a boy who had been occupying the floor beside her. She clung to his arm and apologised over and over, only to see a familiar face peering down at her.

"Rachel?"

"Kurt!" she squealed, pulling him towards her in a sloppy hug (could hugs be sloppy? Maybe not, but it wasn't a very refined one to say the least). "I'm sorry for being so careless as to knock you while you were performing such beautiful dance moves."

He laughed as he held her up, though he kept shooting anxious glances in Sam's direction. "That's okay. I'm surprised you didn't come with Finn! He didn't mention you'd be meeting up with us. Um, who is this? A cousin, maybe?"

"I'm her boyfriend!" yelled Sam over the music, his sweat mussing up his hair. "Isn't she awesome? Hot, too."

Rachel was way too busy using Sam as a stripper pole to realise what was happening in front of her. Eyes closed as she swayed to the music, she didn't see the look of confusion on Kurt's face, or the pure, undiluted anger on his brother's.

"What the hell is going on?" yelled a voice that sounded terribly familiar, though she put that down to the cocktail (boy, she was experiencing such a _buzz!_).

"I'd like to know the same thing," said the Kurt voice, yet she still didn't open her eyes. She imagined dancing this way with Finn, pressing up against his body instead of the body of a gay boy, and-

Oh! She opened them in realisation. Sam was gay! She _knew_ there was something different about him, and everything made sense (in her drunken mind, at least). His parents probably weren't aware, and maybe he wasn't so sure either, which was why he'd forced out such crude language.

He'd been trying to pretend to himself that he was straight.

Rachel was too busy wondering if she could get her dads to talk to him about being comfortable with his sexuality to notice Finn's fist smashing against Sam's cheek. In fact, the music was so loud and the lights so bright that she didn't register anything until Kurt started screaming his brother's name.

She blinked a few times. Finn was there! She hadn't expected-

Oops.

As if Kurt's shouting was some kind of sobering agent, everything clicked into place. He thought she was dating his brother, yet there she was, acting like a harlot with Sam. She'd broken up with Finn, so to speak, and he'd caught her with another man; the way he slammed his fist into Sam's face was probably out of jealousy.

Ah, yes, she supposed she had to put an end to that.

Gripping the sleeve of Finn's shirt, she tried to yank him away while Kurt simply stood in the same spot, screeching like a possessed harpy, which wasn't exactly helping matters.

"Finn, stop, you're hurting him!"

For what it was worth, Sam didn't fight back, but stayed still as the punches kept coming. Only when Rachel kneed Finn in the groin did the taller of the two stumble away with a string of curses, and Sam straightened up whilst mopping the blood from his split lip.

"Kurt, get him some ice from the bar and take him to the bathroom on the first floor. The sign near the door said it isn't yet open for public use, so you can get some privacy." Biting her tongue as she rocked backwards and forwards on the balls of her feet, she clicked her fingers in thought. "Towels, get towels too, the bartender should have a few spare."

Kurt didn't argue, which she was thankful for. His face was pale, even under the fluorescent lighting, and he scurried off like a mouse evading a cat. Sam just gave her this look, one of pity, of humiliation, and in the saddest voice she'd ever heard, he said, "I'm sorry for being so rude to you."

So she hugged him, and promised him that things would work out fine.

Once Kurt was fully equipped to play nurse to Mr Evans, Rachel turned her attention to Finn, who was doubled over, clutching a hand to his groin as he continued to spit out angry curses. Without saying anything, she pulled him towards the exit. He didn't fight, but followed her with an over exaggerated limp (God, men were such _babies_; had he never heard of period pains?).

She wasn't very familiar with the neighbourhood, but it didn't take them long to find an empty alley, save for a couple of stray cats that were feasting on someone's scraps.

Oh how she really wanted to take them home.

"Are you finally done now, beating up my friend?"

He spat on the ground, wincing as he nursed his no-doubt bruised hand. "Friend, right, 'cause it's completely normal to dry hump your friends."

"What is your problem?"

"_You_ are my problem!" he yelled, and she recoiled at the venom in his voice. "How the hell can you do what you do and still have a conscience?"

Rachel faltered as she shivered; it was cold, she was emotionally hurting, and whatever they were doing, she didn't want to do it at all. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you go out with sad, lonely guys like me, and you do all of... this." Waving a hand in her general direction, he sniffled, and it hit her like a bullet when she realised he was crying. "You're effortlessly beautiful and you treat us like we matter, like we're special, but all you're doing is taking our money before you go and seduce someone else."

"That's not fair," she bit back, wrapping her arms around herself. "You said that you don't judge people for how they make a living."

"That was before you made me fall in love with you and kicked me to the side for someone else!"

Both of them sucked in a breath at the same time. He evidently hadn't meant to spill his secret, and she...

She had no idea what to think.

"This is my job, Finn, and you really hurt Sam in there."

He let out a humourless laugh that came out like a bark. "Right, sure, you grind up against every sucker that takes you out?"

"Stop being so mean!" she whimpered. She pushed back her hair and wiped at her eyes, slightly surprised to find that she was crying too. "Stop acting like such a victim when you knew what you were getting yourself into! You knew what you were paying for, you knew from the beginning, so you can't blame me for getting in too... too..."

"Too deep?" This time, it was quiet, like someone had just told him that Santa wasn't real. His face was weary, pale, _sad_, and as he shook his head from side to side, quiet, dignified tears trailed tracks down his cheeks. "I was stupid to think we had something special. I convinced myself that you were too good to be true, and I thought about giving up so many times but Puck kept insisting, and..."

Everything began to spin, partly because of the alcohol running through her system, and partly because of the name that rang in her ears like a warning siren.

Closing her eyes to compose herself, she took a deep breath. "Um... Puck?"

"Yeah..." Finn faltered, cocking his head in confusion. "You know him?"

"You complete jackass."

"What?"

"You utter _pig_."

"Rachel, I-"

"You lying _asshole!"_ Charging at him like a bull seeing red, Rachel found herself slapping Finn's arm, again and again and again while he just stood there and took it like a coward. All of her energy seemed to drain away as sobs wracked her body, and then he had the nerve to try and _hug _her! "Get away from me!" she screeched. "Don't _ever_ call me again, don't _ever_ call the agency again, and don't _ever_ think you'll see me again because I've dealt with enough motherfuckers to have to put up with another one."

Then she ran back into the club in a flood of tears, despite the tiniest speck of pride that she felt in her chest for using a curse word so effectively.

Finn didn't follow her, for which she was thankful. She didn't need him to try and win her back, not after that stunt, and all she was focused on was finding Sam and Kurt.

Even if her heart was hurting like nothing before.

She knocked on the door and whispered their names, and when she was allowed entry, she started crying all over again. Sam's face was already badly swollen and covered in bruises, and he could barely see out of his left eye.

"Calm down princess, you'll set me off again," muttered Kurt, who was delicately dabbing at the blonde boy's face. "Did you put my Neanderthal of a brother on the naughty step?"

Ignoring him completely, she took one of Sam's hands and ran a thumb over his knuckles. "Happy birthday."

He chuckled until he winced, and Rachel's guilt reached critical level.

"Sam told me everything." The tone of Kurt's voice wasn't one she wanted to engage in, but at the look he was giving her, she rolled her eyes and shrugged. "I knew you were too good for my brother. You're going to be a star one day, and Finn's going to be a fireman for the rest of his life; that's not exactly a fairytale waiting to happen."

She opened her mouth to defend him, defend the boy who risked his life every day to save others, but she didn't.

Nothing came out except a long, drawn-out sigh.

"He told me, about Blaine." Then it was Kurt's turn to stiffen. "He told me a couple of weeks ago. I'm sorry, Kurt, I really am."

"Who's Blaine?" asked Sam, his brow furrowed as he rubbed at his eyes.

"My ex-fiance, who I found engaging in a rather feral looking sexual position with our mailman, Sebastian."

Sam let out a low whistle and patted Kurt on the back while Rachel looked on, an eyebrow quipped. "Sorry to hear that dude, really. You deserve someone awesomer who'll cherish you and stuff."

She excused herself with the intent of returning once she'd cleared her head, but instead she went back to her apartment and cried until she had to change her soggy pillow cover.

**l. **They say that things always look better in the morning, right? Night time causes too much dwelling, and things aren't so bad in the light of a new day.

Right?

_Wrong_. Not only did Rachel wake up with a hangover, but she was bombarded with scenes of the night before.

Specifically the one where Finn announced his love, only to let slip that it was all a lie.

Well, not in so many words.

Grabbing her cell phone, she sent an angry text to Santana before slamming it down on her bed as she let out a high pitched whine.

Santana and Puck had played her all along! Thinking back to the early days, when all of her clients were jerks, the two of them had been there to insist that things would get better, that someone would come along and prove her wrong.

But oh, what a coincidence! A friend of Puck's happened to be sweet and kind and so very funny, and she'd fallen for his charm while he just played along.

The realisation slammed into her stomach, hard enough to wind her.

No, she didn't, she _couldn't_...

She couldn't have a _crush_ on Finn!

Except she did, a big fat stupid crush, and she cried into her pillow until she had to use her very last cover.

Great; she could just add a huge pile of washing to the long list of things that had completely ruined her life.

**li. **_"Just let me in, you've got this all wrong!"_

"No!"

"_Doc, stop being so stubborn and open this damn door."_

"My name is Rachel! Not Doc or Dopey or Sneezy or Sleepy or whatever you like to call me. Please leave before I call security."

"_Your building doesn't have security."_

"Then I'll call my janitor!"

"_Berry..."_

"Leave me alone, Santana!"

She tried to pretend that the sound of her (ex)friend's fading footsteps was a welcome one.

**lii. **_"He wasn't playing you!"_

"Go away, Noah."

"_He's a good guy, the best guy! You should see him now, all depressed and shit because he loves you, like, fucking loads!"_

"Go _away_, Noah."

"_You think he's smart enough to trick you into thinking he's all kinds of vulnerable? Quinn did enough damage to last a lifetime; he doesn't need to pretend with you."_

Leaning against the door, she looked through the peephole at the familiar mohawk. "Quinn?"

"_Didn't he tell you? Lemme in and I'll explain."_

She had a feeling she was going to regret it, but after unbolting the door and turning every lock, she invited Puck inside (though she didn't offer him a drink; she wasn't going to be _too_ hospitable).

"Nice place you got here."

"Just tell me what you want to tell me so you can kindly leave me alone. Also, please tell your girlfriend to stop sending me pictures of her 'saddest' face, it's not going to work."

Puck whistled, sticking his hands in his pockets as he lingered by the door. "That doesn't work on you? All she has to do is pout to make me go down on her."

With a wrinkled nose, Rachel waved him towards the couch (though she caved and made him a coffee), settling down beside him with guarded eyes. "He's upset?" she managed to ask, and any mirth from Puck's face was replaced with sincerity.

"Yeah. I've known him my whole life, and I've never... I mean, there was one time when it was bad, but..." He bit the inside of his mouth, eyes unconsciously scanning the room. "Quinn was his high school girlfriend. Quarterback and head cheerleader, fucking clichés galore, and he thought he was happy. I thought he was too, I guess, until..." He looked guilty, somehow, like he was betraying his best friend, and Rachel let out the smallest of sighs.

"Maybe I should ask him about it."

"No, God no, it'd kill him, especially after all this shit." She narrowed her eyes; he rolled his. "Okay, look, Quinn got preggers senior year. She told him she was gonna keep the baby, so he packed in his out of state football scholarship, got a job at some place that sold sheets, and basically handed her his balls along with his entire future."

When (or why) Rachel started crying, she had no idea.

"He was tired and lonely but he was still happy, happy that he was gonna be a dad." Puck's jaw tightened at the same time that the vein in his neck seemed to protrude from his skin. His fists were so tight that his fingers had gone white, and if he'd still been holding his cup, he probably would have smashed it in his hands. "He went to New York for his brother's birthday, and when he came back, Quinn wasn't pregnant anymore."

Rachel gasped in horror as she pressed her hands to her mouth, head shaking in denial. "A miscarriage?"

"If only." He winced at his slip, but Rachel said nothing. "She had an abortion while he was visiting his kid-fucking-brother. The baby wasn't his, it was some hockey jerk's, and she did it, just like that."

He didn't need to say anymore for Rachel to understand where Finn's insecurities came from. Her heartache came from no date to prom and defaced yearbook pictures, but he'd lost _everything_; his girl, his baby, and his future.

"I used to hate Quinn more than I've ever hated anyone," said Puck with a growl, "but I understood where she was coming from, eventually. She did right by Finn, even if she fucked up and did it in the worst way possible, and she did right for herself too. She went to Yale, met a guy, eloped and rode off into the sunset."

"But Finn didn't."

Puck's expression softened. "He told me he was moving to New York to keep an eye on his brother, and when he mentioned the NYFD, I tagged along for the ride and ended up working alongside him. He tried to be normal, you know? He tried dating, but that didn't work, and he tried being happy, but that didn't work either." Snorting to himself, he rubbed his temple while Rachel sniffed to herself. "God, if only you weren't such a stubborn bitch."

Mollified, she gasped. "Excuse me?"

"Remember the night we met, when I hit on San? I offered to set you up with a friend, but you shot him down before I even told you his name."

The breath caught in Rachel's throat as she lifted her legs onto the couch and pulled them against her chest. "That was... Finn?"

"Yeah. I knew the two of you would be good together, and you seemed crazy enough to distract him from his pity party, but the only way I could get you to meet was by convincing him to call for an escort. I had to hammer it into him every chance I got, and when he caved, I told him that a friend had recommended Rachel Berry, and the rest is history."

She wiped at her eyes, though whether she was crying from the new information, or from the fact that she'd rubbed them until they were sore, she didn't know. "So he wasn't pretending to be nice to me?"

"Hell no. I even told him to act like a cocky jackass to see if you'd buy it, but I guess he didn't listen."

Sucking her bottom lip between her teeth, Rachel wasn't sure what she was supposed to do next. She'd been so incredibly harsh with him.

After a while, she ran a hand through her unruly hair, eying Puck with intrigue. "Why are you here?"

"God, haven't you been listening?"

"Yes, but what's in it for you?"

Dropping his bravado, he simply shrugged once as he ran his tongue over his lips. "I want Finn to be happy, and if you'd seen the change in him when he met you, you'd know it too."

"Know what?"

"That he fucking loves you, that's what!"

Rachel leapt at him in a hug, and after placing a kiss on his cheek combined with a soft, "Thank you, Noah," she retreated to the bathroom to get ready.

"Ready for what?" called Puck over the sound of the running water.

"Just tell Santana to come over, now!"

**liii. ** Once her friends had come and gone (it was good to call them that again), Rachel readied herself to take a look in the full-length mirror that hung in her closet door. She'd, maybe foolishly, given Santana free reign on her appearance, and this would be her first glimpse of the girl that had a lot of grovelling to do.

She opened the door and gasped, though not because she was disappointed; it was quite the opposite. Santana had chosen one of her most subtle, simple dresses that hugged her curves and revealed a generous amount of cleavage, and coupled with the cascading curls of hair that tickled the bare skin of her shoulders, she looked _hot_. Her smoky eyes stared back at her in a way that somehow came off as sexy, and biting her pink tainted lip, she smiled at how _adult_ she looked.

Now all she had to do was confront a certain man and apologise for her behaviour whilst admitting that she had an inappropriate crush on him. Piece of cake!

**liv. **By the time she'd mustered up the courage to hail a cab, give the driver Finn's address, make it to his door and rest her head against it before knocking (all with her heart in her throat, mind you), it was rather late, and the longer she waited for some sign of activity from his apartment, the more she realised that maybe she hadn't really thought things through. For all she knew, he had a nightshift at the station that meant he wouldn't be back until tomorrow.

When it really did seem like no one was in (why hadn't Puck told her that Finn was working?), Rachel was forced to admit defeat. He may have won the battle, but he hadn't won the war.

Turning away from the door, she bumped straight into a rather broad chest, and would have fallen backwards if it wasn't for a steady hand that grabbed her before it happened. Blinking a few times, she looked up at her saviour, only to see unfamiliarity in a face she knew so well.

Finn looked _tired_. The bags under his eyes were the biggest she'd ever seen on anyone, and considering she'd known one boy at NYADA who had gone _three whole days _without sleeping, that was saying something. The scruff on his chin was something she hadn't seen before, and while it made him look rather sexy, she had a feeling it was only there because Finn was having problems. His eyes were red and glum; she was sure she could see tear stains on his cheeks.

He didn't even smile as he sidestepped her and let himself inside his apartment, shutting the door in her face.

Well.

Her naivety was showing again. She'd expected a romantic, cliché 'let's run into each other's arms and declare our love before we fuck on the floor' kind of scenario, or at least a civil _hello_ to one another. To be honest, the reality seemed just as unbelievable as her 'Finn proposing on a unicorn' fantasy.

Rachel was nothing if not determined. Banging her fist on the door, she waited for him to open it and apologise for his lack of chivalry, but no such luck; he didn't even tell her to go away.

"Let me in, we need to talk!"

Nothing.

"Finn, you can't leave a lady waiting so late at night!"

Silence.

"Open this door _right _now, Hudson, or I'll knock it down and-"

It opened before she was forced to kick it in, which was a relief in itself. She waited for the apology, but after taking one look at her, he headed back inside (though with the door wide open, she let herself in to follow him).

His apartment was a lot cleaner than she'd expected. When Puck had given her the address, she'd expected a dump of a place. A few socks were strewn across the floor here and there, but all in all, it seemed nice, homely even. It was bigger than hers, anyway. Since Finn and Puck lived together, they could afford somewhere half decent, whereas Rachel was still living in an apartment the size of a closet.

To be fair, she'd made enough to move to somewhere better, but she'd grown attached to her little hellhole.

There was still no romantic running of any kind, and Rachel's bravado began to wear off. She'd convinced herself (as had Puck and Santana) that Finn would welcome her back with open arms, and after having gone to so much effort, she'd assumed he'd be pleased to see her. Sprawled across his couch, staring up at the ceiling, he didn't seem to be... _anything_.

"I'm awful at apologies." She played nervously with her dress as she stared down at her feet, feeling enough embarrassment for the both of them. "My intense character means that I tend to believe that I'm always right, even when provided with evidence on the contrary, which means I very rarely have anything to be sorry for."

"You're right, you really do suck at apologies."

His voice was gruff, croaky, and he didn't sound like he was joking, but just to hear him was a relief, and Rachel found herself gravitating towards the couch. She hovered for a while until he made the slightest nod of his head, and she perched herself beside him (being careful not to accidentally touch his leg).

"I don't even know where to begin," she whispered, and she sucked in a breath while he gave her a rather strange look. "The wrong end of the stick is a horrible place to be, isn't it? The right end involves coffee at Starbucks and midnight screenings of awful movies and dinners with the family. But the wrong end... The wrong end involves believing that the person you've grown attached to was playing you all along."

"Been there, done that, got the t-shirt." Finn pulled at his hair as he let out a yawn, and then he closed his eyes. And kept them closed. And didn't say anything for a while. Rachel thought he'd fallen asleep, but after ten minutes had passed (and after she'd prepared a dramatic exit speech in her head), he opened them to reveal a shimmering veil of tears. "Today I nearly died." He wiped his nose on the back of his hand while Rachel stared at him in a mix of horror and relief (horror for what could have happened, and relief for what thankfully didn't).

"H-how?"

"Basic search and rescue job. An apartment building was on fire, we did a search of every floor while the flames were small, and after everyone had gotten to safety, we put it out. Except I went back in."

Shifting a little in his seat, Finn couldn't meet her gaze, though that was probably for the best if she was to stay composed.

"I made some bullshit up about double checking the third floor, and since everything was under control, my Chief let me go. I looked around to try and clear my head or whatever the hell I was looking for, and then I heard a cry. A girl, not much younger than me, was trapped under some fallen tiles and she kept going in and out of consciousness. I had no idea she was there, but I somehow found her anyway."

Rachel bit her lip with the tiniest of smiles. "You saved her life. You're a hero."

"She died in my arms." He didn't flinch, not outwardly, but she could see the change of emotion in his eyes, in his posture. "I tried to get her out, and then she whispered an apology and _died_ in my goddamn arms. And I just stayed there, stroking her face while I wondered if I should stay there and do the same."

Oh _God_.

"What stopped you?" she asked in a small, shaky voice.

Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes and pressed his head against the arm rest, a low hum in the back of his throat. "I saw part of the ceiling start to crumble right above me, and I knew that if I didn't move, I'd be trapped too. I tried to think of my mom, my brother, Puck, anyone to change my mind." He sat up and opened his eyes. "I saw your face, and I knew that even if I could never have you, it would be better to admire you from afar and watch you be happy with someone else." While Rachel choked on the swell of love and hurt and elation in her chest, Finn stood up, patted her once on the shoulder, then headed into his bedroom.

Yes, she could save it until morning, that was _splendid_. While Puck was out (no doubt with Santana), she figured it couldn't hurt if she borrowed his bed for the night.

**lv.** At 8am, an unfamiliar alarm started to beep incessantly, disrupting Rachel from a rather interesting dream about a cactus that enjoyed ballet. Stretching an arm out to turn it off, she was beaten to it by someone beside her in the bed, and her eyes were too heavy and her senses too dulled to put two and two together.

But oh, of course! She'd visited Finn the previous night, so who else could it be? Snuggling closer to the warm body that was pressed up against her, she buried her face in the crook of his elbow while he murmured something under his breath.

"Good morning, Finn."

"Wrong roommate, babe."

Like someone had doused her in a bucket of ice cold water, Rachel shot up with an indignant squeal, slamming her arm against Puck's nose in the process. Said boy howled in pain as he clutched his face and cursed to the high heavens, and as if things couldn't get any worse, Finn hurried into the room, a look of horror marring his features.

The 'couldn't get any worse' aspect came from the fact that he was wearing nothing but a very, _very_ tight pair of black boxer briefs, proving the theory that big feet indeed correlated with having a large...

Well, you know.

"What the hell's going on?" he groaned, more out of exasperation than anger. He rubbed his eyes roughly as he yawned, and like the mature adult she was, Rachel pulled the duvet over her head to hide her utter embarrassment.

"I think my nose is broken!"

"Doesn't look like it to me, and it's not bleeding so you might be lucky. Can I ask you why you're uh... both in the same bed?"

Risking a peek, Rachel lowered the duvet, low enough to look Finn in the eyes. "The couch looked uncomfortable and I assumed that Noah would be away for the night to fornicate with Santana."

He snorted beside her, though it wasn't the smartest of moves, not when his nose was apparently causing him so much discomfort. "If only. After all that makeover shit I had to watch and endure, she said she just wanted to watch TV then go to sleep." He snorted again, only to wince in pain. "I didn't know you were gonna be in my bed, Berry, and I was too pissed off last night to notice." Raising his eyebrows, he tried to look under the covers, though lovely, thoughtful, chivalrous Finn smacked him across the back of his head before he could.

"Don't be such a pig."

"I just wanted to know if she was naked! Did you two fuck in here last night?"

"N-no!" Rachel spluttered, and she saw Finn's face flush in a similar way to her own.

Puck let out a low whistle. "Dude, you blind? After San was done with all the makeup and hair and dress and stuff, I would have screwed her myself. You gay or something?"

Finn said nothing, and didn't even offer Rachel a smile before he disappeared back to his own room, leaving her to Puck's dirty errant thoughts.

"Don't even think about it."

**lvi. ** Breakfast was sufficiently awkward. For a start, she'd had to borrow one of Puck's NYFD shirts, which Finn obviously disapproved of. Oh, he didn't state his jealously out loud, but there really was no need; she could practically smell it in the air as she left the bedroom, and his eyes seemed to burn holes into her back.

For another, when she offered to make pancakes for the three of them, Finn claimed he wasn't hungry, and Puck insisted that he relied on coffee alone to set him up for the rest of the day (and they were apparently all out). Having already made the batter, Rachel was forced to make a stupidly large stack of pancakes for herself, despite only being able to eat three at the most.

That is, she could only usually eat three of her vegan recipe pancakes. She'd specifically used the eggs she'd found in the boys' fridge, which meant she wasn't about to eat them herself.

So the three of them sat at the table, each preoccupied with something else. Rachel's attention flitted between the two of them, waiting for anyone to strike up a conversation. Puck was distracted by the way his hand shook with 'coffee withdrawals', and though he held it down onto the table, it still quivered, craving caffeine. Finn just stared at the colossal pile of pancakes in the middle of the table. His eyebrows were furrowed and his jaw set, and by the way he kept his focus, never blinking, it was as if he was battling an inner breakfast demon.

"You're a vegan," he finally said, and both Puck and Rachel stared at him like he'd just grown a second head.

"I... why yes, I am."

Taking a fork, he picked up a pancake and sniffed it carefully.

"I promise I haven't poisoned them."

He ignored her silly comment and narrowed his eyes. "These have eggs in them... right?"

"Yes," she admitted, and she looked over at Puck, who was muttering something about coffee under his breath. "I made them for you, actually, but I should have asked you first."

"You know I love pancakes."

It wasn't a question, but more of a 'I told you that once before and you remembered it' kind of statement, and Rachel just nodded.

"Thanks."

And then he got to work on eating every last one until he had to go back to bed to sleep it off, and Rachel simply flashed him a bashful smile when he thanked her with a kiss on the cheek.

That was the second time he'd done that, perfect apart from the gagging sounds that Puck made in the background.

**lvii.** "Well kids, this has been fun but my shift starts in half an hour and I promised the Chief I wouldn't be late."

"For a change," quipped Finn, who was staring out the window of their apartment; Puck flipped him off, despite the frown that Rachel gave him.

"No fucking in my bed, I only just cleaned my sheets."

Before either Finn or Rachel could respond, Puck was out of the door, leaving the two of them, alone, in an empty apartment, their unaired differences hanging above their heads.

Great.

"Like I'd want to do that kind of thing in his bed anyway," she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest with a snort. "There's dirty laundry all over Noah's floor, and I'm sure your room is much more agreeable."

Finn turned to look at her, his face nonchalant and unreadable, and he shrugged. "Wanna find out?"

So that's how Rachel found herself sitting on Finn's bed, though she was still fully clothed and her lips were yet to be kissed by the boy in front of her. In fact, despite all the ways that being in Finn's bedroom could have been perceived as morally wrong (she let out a mental sigh at the thought), they didn't do a whole lot.

It probably had something to do with the fact that he'd left as soon as she'd entered, and after shouting something about the shower, she was forced to leave him to it.

It was presumptuous. It was terrible. It was one of those moments that you saw in movies and TV shows which that made you roll your eyes at the character's stupidity. Because really, why would you root around someone's personal belongings without their permission?

Ah, that's right, to snoop on them and find out more while they no doubt lathered their naked body in soap in the next room.

The less thoughts about _that_ the better.

Temporarily pushing aside her guilt, Rachel took a tour of his little room, and by little, she really did mean little. Most of the space had been taken up by a king sized bed, though due to the height of him, it wasn't hard to tell why. A small, wooden, 'I look like a hand-me-down' table had been squeezed between the bed and the wall, and on top sat a simple lamp, digital alarm clock, and a New York Fire Department badge.

Glancing over her shoulder, she opened the small drawer to find a box of unopened condoms (a note attached in the terrible handwriting of Puck that said '_I got the ones with the shortest expiration date to force you into using 'em._'), an old pager with a crack right down the screen (she gasped out loud when she saw the way it had melted under a high heat), a few phone numbers scribbled onto pieces of scrap paper, and a-

A, uh...

A photo of Rachel.

Ever wondered why it was rude to intrude? _This_ was a perfect example. She recognised the image from the agency website (one of many that Artie had taken to advertise herself to potential clients), but the frame that it was in was of Finn's own doing.

"Busted," came a soft voice from the door. Rachel dropped the picture like a hot coal as she turned around to face him, and if Santana had been there, there was no doubt that Bashful would have been her nickname of the hour. "You think I'm a total loser."

"N-no, Finn, I-"

He took three large steps towards her. His eyes looked down at her lips, licking his own, and she readied herself, readied herself for what _had_ to be coming.

He grabbed the picture, pulled it out of the frame, and folded it over roughly before shoving it into his pocket. "I'm actually gonna go shower now, so it'd be cool if you left."

And then _he_ left, without so much as a goodbye.

The urge to be nosy had long since gone, and with a bitter taste in her mouth, Rachel let herself out and rubbed her eyes until they dripped with tears.

So much for a grand declaration of love.

**lviii**. _Two can play at this texting stand-off._

_it's not a stand off._

_Then why are you being so hostile and un-Finnlike?_

_if you need me to go into details then i think you're talking to the wrong guy._

_Finn, please?_

_i have work, see ya._

_Please._

_i'll be alright, don't worry about me._

Easier said than done.


	4. Chapter 4

**The feedback for this story is keeping me going, seriously. Thank you to each and every one of you for being so fabulous! A slightly shorter chapter now, but I'm trying to keep my cards close to my chest ;)**

**lix.** "Have you ever met Finn before?"

Santana looked up from the magazine she was reading, though she didn't exactly wear a smile to reassure Rachel that everything would be okay.

"Yeah; what's it to you?"

"You _know_ what it is to me so please don't act so pretentious."

Snorting, Santana laughed under her breath as she turned a page, only to clap her hands in excitement. "Finally, an article I can use to my advantage!" Leaning forward in her seat, she pretended to whisper with a glint in her eye. "Between you and me, Puck's a genius when it comes to the classic fuck, but he could really use a hand when it comes to this, pun intended."

Sliding the magazine across the sticky counter of the bar, Rachel rolled her eyes at the less than inspiring title; 'Teach him how to really press your button with just a finger'.

"Lovely," said Rachel, voice flat and uninterested. "Let me ask you again; have you met him before?"

"Yeah."

"...and that's all you're going to say."

"Let me think... Yeah."

Slamming a fist down on the table, both glasses of orange juice quivered under Rachel's wrath. "What is your _problem?_"

"My 'problem'," Santana began, signing the obnoxious air quotes and everything, "is that you won't leave him alone. I know you text him a shitload, and you call him an unhealthy amount of times each day, but it's obvious that he needs space. He's a good guy." She pursed her lips and let out an 'eh' sound that made Rachel grind her teeth together. "He's an alright guy. A little boring and innocent for my tastes, but whatever, he's cute. His ego's bruised so give him time and all that jazz."

"And this is the only reason why you won't talk about him with me?"

Santana's face softened at the vulnerability in Rachel's voice, and she briefly patted her on the hand. "No. You realise Sue's gonna find out eventually, right? If she knows you've got it bad for a client, she's gonna have to fire you."

Rachel didn't really have a rebuttal for that; was it the same thing if the subject of her affection was avoiding her like the plague?

The rules were a little unclear on the subject of romance with clients, anyway.

Oh no, that's right, they weren't. In fact, in Sue's office was a large notice that was plastered on the wall that spelt it out in black and white; 'RELATIONSHIPS WITH CLIENTS MEANS AN OUT OF JOB ESCORT'. Next to that was a crudely drawn stick woman who had tears on her cheeks that were rather disproportionate to her body (Rachel was a crier, but she'd yet to produce a tear that was as big as her head).

If she'd been impartial and unbiased, she would have tutted at the notion that there was even a chance escorts could fall for their clients. Frankly, it was sad, and she thought herself better than that.

However, to keep a sliver of dignity, she simply told herself that it wasn't the same, not _really_. Puck had tried to set her up with Finn before he'd paid for her services, and therefore it obviously didn't count! The fact that he paid for her rent and food and clothes had little to do with it, and if they started dating as a real couple, she'd expect him to treat her to those kinds of things anyway.

Besides, as long as Sue didn't find out, everything was going to be fine.

Just fine.

**lx.** Staring at her cell like she'd discovered the holy grail, she prayed under her breath for salvation to come.

It began to vibrate with a new call, and Rachel thanked an omniscient being for coming to her aid.

"Hello?"

"_Oh good, it really is you this time."_

Well, maybe not so much aid as torture.

"Excuse me? Who is this?"

The voice huffed on the other end of the phone, and she breathed out Kurt's name at the same time that he barked it down the phone.

"Sorry, it's been a long day."

There was a pause. _"But it's barely 9am."_

"Long week, then."

"_But it's Monday."_

"You know, _technically_ a new week begins on a Sunday, so if you could excuse me, I have things to be doing."

_"We have to meet up."_

"We don't have to do anything," she huffed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "If you're asking for an appointment, you need to contact the agency, not me. Besides, I'd have to consult my diary, and I don't know if I'd be able to fit you in."

Now _that_ was a lie. Her diary was painfully bare (she may or may not have considered booking an appointment with her gynaecologist just to fill at least one blank space), but Kurt didn't need to know that.

_"I'm not going to pay for your company."_

Gasping, Rachel clutched the phone tightly in her hand. "Are you saying that I'm not worth the fees?"

_"I'm saying that I should be able to meet up with my friend, free of charge. I have juicy gossip to tantalise you with!"_

"Not interested."

There was a brief silence, and Rachel could practically hear Kurt's scheming smile. _"I can indulge a little information on my brother..."_

Damn him. "A little won't cut it, Kurt."

_"Fine. If you meet up with me and I don't have to exchange anything of monetary value with you, I'll tell you anything you need to know about the one and only Finn Hudson."_

She should have said no. She'd learnt her lesson about snooping behind Finn's back, but this was his brother. It wasn't her fault they were best friends (or should that have been barely friends?), and it wasn't her fault if the topic of Finn happened to arise.

"About the monetary value aspect..."

_"I am _not_ going to pay you!"_

"Buy me a muffin and we have a deal."

_"Only if you buy me a coffee."_

"Where and when?

**lxi.** As Rachel blow dried her hair and sang along to Blondie's Heart of Glass, her cell began to ring, and after almost strangling herself with her hair drier in an attempt to answer it, she was severely disappointed to find it was a wrong number.

_"But Mohinder, this is his number yes?"_

"No, as I told you the last time."

_"But I know it is his number, he told me so."_

"Well clearly it isn't. Either Mohinder is dyslexic and has a problem with numbers, or he's purposefully given you a different one to avoid this very conversation."

_"Bitch!"_

Feeling her stomach dip as the caller hung up, she wondered if that was the truth.

**lxii.** Though she was forced to protest about it until she was blue in the face, Rachel had managed to convince Kurt to go somewhere other than a Starbucks, despite the fuss he'd made. It was silly, yes, but it was _their_ place, and she was determined to bring Finn there on their next date.

Oh yes, there would be a next one, she was going to make sure of it.

Walking hesitantly into a coffee place that looked too expensive for her liking, she glanced around the room until she saw Kurt sitting in a plush arm chair, talking animatedly to someone opposite him.

There had been a small moment, if she could be honest, where she'd let herself believe that Kurt's insistence to meet up was all part of an elaborate plan to set her up with Finn, but the boy he was talking to was smaller, and had blonde hair that was very similar to-

"Kurt Elizabeth Hummel!" Storming over in disbelief, she gawped at the sight of Sam Evans casually having a hot chocolate filled with too many marshmallows.

"Your middle name is Elizabeth?" he said, a mixture of a laugh and a choke as his drink went down the wrong way.

Scooting up beside the blonde, she stared at Kurt as he narrowed his eyes.

"Yes, though I didn't tell Rachel. What else did Finn tell you? Because if he _dared_ to tell you the sausage story..."

"Sausage story?"

Rachel shrugged at Sam as she plucked a marshmallow from his hot chocolate. "I remain as in the dark as you, though it's a little darker in my case considering you didn't tell me the two of you were dating!"

A dramatic gasp escaped Kurt's lips, while Sam turned a funny shade of red and began to play with a piece of loose string on his pants.

"We aren't dating!"

"Yet," added Sam in the quietest voice, and Rachel beamed at the happy disbelief on Kurt's face.

"Awh, you're so _cute_!"

With a wave of his hand, Kurt snorted. "Enough of that. I brought you along for some girl talk, not so you could embarrass either of us." He tapped his fingers against the coffee table. "What have you done with my brother?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Is that why you look like a very flustered tomato?"

Rachel covered her face with her hands, practically recoiling when she felt someone squeeze her shoulder.

"Don't be mean, Kurt, lay off her." Squeezing her again, Sam flashed her a smile that she could just about see through her fingers. "Before Kurt grills you on the Finn stuff, I kinda just really wanna say sorry, you know, for screwing things up."

Rachel lowered her hands and shook her head from side to side. For some bizarre reason, she couldn't stand the look of guilt on his face. He looked so _genuine_ that she found herself feeling guilty for making him feel guilty.

Really.

"You didn't screw up anything," she said softly, and despite the 'hmpph' sound that came from Kurt, she took Sam's hand and ran her fingers over his knuckles. "I don't understand what you're apologising for."

"For saying what I said to you that night. I was kind of a jerk, being all sexist and stuff, and I feel really bad about it. And, you know, making things worse with you and Kurt's brother."

The tension could have been cut with a knife. Rachel didn't know what to say, not when Kurt was staring at her like she was on trial for murder of the century, so she simply shrugged and offered him a coy smile.

"Occupational hazard. Finn was just a client like anyone else. Don't give me that look, Kurt, you know how it is."

"No, I don't. All I know is that my brother is in a deeper funk than ever, and you seem like the only one able to rectify that."

"Don't you think I'm trying?" she snapped, a huff under her breath. "He's ignoring me, Kurt. He won't answer my calls and he ignores my texts and when I paid him a visit, he didn't even open the door!"

"Woah woah woah, you talk too fast," murmured Sam, massaging his temple with two fingers. "I'm still recovering from going out with Kurt last night."

"Drinking?"

"Broadway."

Before Rachel and Kurt could dive into a conversation on that very subject, Sam cleared his throat to demand attention (though she found herself staring at his hair as he messed it up slightly with a brush of his hand).

"How often do you call him?"

She bit her lip, closed her eyes briefly, and rocked back and forth in her spot. "At least twelve times a day." Opening them, she frowned at their respective expressions. Sam looked like he'd just seen a cat sprout wings and fly away, and Kurt looked like he'd heard said cat tell an incredibly funny joke. "What?"

"Twelve times a day? Jesus, Rachel."

She didn't appreciate Sam's tone, but he was a boy after all, and he'd be able to tell her if she hadn't been calling enough.

"What would you recommend?"

"That you stop bothering the guy. Look, there's showing an interest, and then there's, like, being a creepy stalker."

When Rachel glared in Kurt's direction to try and get him to come to her defence, he simply sniggered under his breath.

"But what if he thinks I'm not interested anymore?"

"That's the beauty of the cold shoulder! If you play hard to get, he'll be more determined to get your attention, especially if you make him jealous in the process."

It all sounded like terrible advice in Rachel's opinion, but really, what did she know?

She could do it. She could ignore him.

She considered deleting his number to resist temptation, but she wasn't that brave.

_Yet._

**lxiii.** The first week of 'operation – ignore Finn' was easier than she thought it would be, thanks to the distraction of Broadway. In order to keep herself busy, Rachel auditioned for anything and everything she could find, including stage hand and sound technician positions (she had to start somewhere, right?).

It was easy to forget Finn's smile as she belted out some Barbra.

It was easy to forget his natural dimples as she tapped her foot on stage to the rhythm of the music.

It was easy to forget that she'd gone a whole seven days without any clients.

**lxiv.** Was it considered normal to see a fire truck down the street, sending you into a spiral of depression and loneliness while the rest of the world passed you by?

Okay, maybe things weren't _that_ bad, but she did feel incredibly sad, imagining Finn being so close yet so far. If only she had a talent for penning successful plays!

A beautiful, incredibly talented damsel in distress, waiting to be metaphorically saved by the lone fire fighter, his self confidence just as scarred as the many burn victims he encountered on his treacherous journey.

Except she wasn't really in distress at all, and the more she thought about it, the more pathetic she felt. It didn't do to dwell on things, especially boy things, but it wasn't her fault if it was all new to her.

She considered calling Finn to tell him about the play, but not sure that fit into the cold shoulder category, she instead made herself some soup and tried to forget all of her sorrows as she watched a re-run of Sex and the City.

**lxv.** Week two began with little fanfare; she received a call for Mohinder, and that was the extent of her excitement (though, granted, she got a kick out of saying 'Don't call here again or I'll report you to the police!', despite never even considering that route).

Her operation, however, was failing rapidly. She'd find herself beside the phone, _itching_ to call him, and no matter how many times she played Sam's advice in her head, she didn't care about what the blonde had to say. Ignoring someone seemed like a sure fire way to announce that you were a disinterested jerk, and it was the complete _opposite_, not that Sam cared. Besides, what did he know? He had the hots for Kurt, and yet she didn't see _him_ ignoring the brunette (not that she was with them 24/7, but still).

She tapped her fingers against the receiver of the phone, bottom lip between her teeth, eyes downcast and red. She hadn't slept well, not since it had dawned on her that she was in her second week of the danger zone.

The danger zone being the road to unemployment.

"Sam doesn't know what he's talking about," she muttered to herself. She began to pass the receiver to and fro between her hands whilst staring up at the ceiling, her features set in a permanent scowl. "I'm a strong, confident woman, and I don't need Finn to run my life or contribute to it in any way."

Putting down the phone, she stormed off into her kitchen to distract herself with making cookies.

**lxvi.** Five minutes later, she was sitting beside the phone once more, the same pensive look on her face.

To call or not to call, that was the question.

Maybe she could decide by luck? That way, the decision was out of her hands!

"Brilliant," she whispered, before fishing a dime out of her purse. "Heads I call him, tails I don't."

In the moment when the coin was in the air, making its way back to her hands, Rachel felt her gut make the decision for her. She couldn't _not_ call. She missed being in his company, and while she assumed that the 'cold shoulder' would work in some cases, it wasn't a blanket technique that helped everyone. Finn didn't seem like the kind of man to play petty games like that; she wasn't going to put him through it.

Heads, heads, heads, heads...

She blinked, staring up above her before gazing down at her empty hands. No coin. She checked under the stool, and the phone, and her feet, but nothing.

"Fucking asshole."

She couldn't even put the damn thing in her swear jar.

**lxvii.** There was a moment when she considered something stupid, and like, _really_ stupid. If calling Finn was off limits, was 'accidentally' causing a fire to have said fireman pay a visit the same thing?

See? _Stupid_.

Except once Rachel got it into her head, she couldn't get it out. In some ways, she was as dramatic as they came. If something bad were to happen to her, it was always preferable for it to be _really_ bad.

Take, for example, crossing the road. If she were to almost be hit by a car and smushed to a pulp on the road, wouldn't it be much more exciting if the vehicle was one of Brad Pitt's sports cars, stolen by a masked thief? Being able to say 'I was nearly mowed down by Brad Pitt' had a completely different effect to 'I was nearly hit by an old woman who'd forgotten her glasses.'

Therefore, as soon as the fire scenario took shape, there was nothing she could do to get rid of it. She could only imagine the drama and the romance and the hot, fiery, passion between the two of them.

She could see it now!

Trapped in the apartment, going in and out of consciousness, battling to stay alive to admit her true feelings to a tall, handsome stranger. Banging on the door, smoke billowing from the raging fire, life slipping between her fingers.

"Rachel!"

That voice, that beacon of light.

"Rachel!"

A man in uniform rushing in to save her. Strong hands, lifting her up, carrying her to safety. The voice begging her to stay with him. A declaration of love.

After trying (and failing) to successfully burn her toast, Rachel soon gave up, promising herself to think of a better plan as she stepped into the shower to rinse away her worries.

**lxviii.** What's that saying? Be careful what you wish for because it could backfire in your face and metaphorically burn you like the fire on the floor above.

Backtrack time. There she was, towel drying her hair as she did her best impersonation of Judy Garland, when an obnoxious ringing noise filled her apartment and interrupted her chilling rendition of Over the Rainbow. She checked in every room for the culprit of the sound, but nothing.

Until she realised it was the fire alarm for the building. Her toast was slightly black, but no suspicious flames were involved, and she was fairly certain nothing else was on fire.

Her talent may have been red hot, but not on that scale.

Back to drying her hair, she figured that it was probably a mistake. Her daddy had struggled for weeks to try and navigate their newest fire alarm, and every time it beeped at him with some kind of warning, he'd hit the thing with a hammer to shut it up.

Simple but effective.

As she closed in on the last verse, she was once again interrupted, though the distraction came from her front door.

"Miss, you need to exit the building, the fire service are on their way."

Staring down at her teeny tiny penguin pyjamas, she squeaked in dismay and nodded to the invisible voice. "Of course, just let me get dressed!"

"No time! Unless you wanna burn to a crisp, out, now!"

So that's how Rachel found herself trudging down the stairs with the rest of the tenants at nine o'clock at night. At least she didn't feel too underdressed; one man was simply wearing a towel.

Wordlessly, they remained a large group at the edge of the sidewalk, all of them staring up at the building that looked very much intact.

Rachel huffed as she crossed her arms over her chest. It was cold, her nipples were too perky for their own good, and a man beside her wouldn't stop leering, no matter how many times she'd shot him a dirty glare.

There was no smoke from what she could see, which was a bit of a letdown. Yes yes, it was good that the fire was minimal and they were all out alive, etc etc, but she'd been led to believe by movies and television that when fires like these occurred, the whole building became engulfed in flames.

Thank God it hadn't though; all of her Barbra memorabilia was still inside.

Five minutes later (and a few disapproving grimaces in the pervert's direction later), the fire truck sauntered along like it didn't have a care in the world. The lights were flashing, but only barely; if you blinked, you'd miss them.

The doors opened. A couple of men in uniform jumped out and began talking to the super of the building, and then two more familiar figures made an appearance.

Damn, even Rachel had to admit that Puck looked good in his uniform. It suited him, and the confidence was clear as he held his head high and made his way into the building.

Finn, on the other hand... Well, let's just say that Rachel felt a sudden urge to push him to the ground and have her wicked way with him for the whole world to see.

Unfortunately, he didn't even spare her a smile as he followed after Puck, and she was forced to interact with Pervy to pass the time.

Five minutes soon became fifteen, and fifteen became half an hour. Why hadn't she grabbed a coat or _something_ to keep her warm? Her pyjamas were practically short shorts, and while the penguins wearing ear muffs were adorable, they didn't exactly offer a lot of protection against the cold New York air. Her top was just as unhelpful; with thin straps, there were no arms, and a scrap of material barely covered her chest.

If she'd _known _she'd be parading around in her nightwear, she would have worn something warmer.

(Or something much more scandalous to entice Finn's appetite, but that was beside the point).

After an hour had passed, and after Rachel had given up on saying 'please don't ogle my breasts' to Mr Taylor (who was a life guard at a local swimming pool (shudder)), Finn and Puck emerged, still in one piece.

"Is it sorted? Is everyone going to be safe?" called out an old man, and Puck started laughing to the dismay of many; he was so incredibly tactless.

"You gotta be careful with candles, kids. Someone had one of those, like, tea light things? It was left alight in the bedroom and had set fire to the thong beside it."

Puck held up the offending item, a lacy red affair that was charred black and still smoking slightly.

"That's mine," sighed Mr Taylor. Gawking to herself, Rachel watched the man step forward to claim it, and in a moment of creeped out unity, she caught Finn's eye and the world stopped around them.

Well maybe not, because Puck seemed to notice her at the same time, and after a yell of "Berry!", she was engulfed in a hug and swept off her feet while Finn stared on, too caught off guard to react.

"Noah, you're squeezing too hard," she choked out. He laughed, patted her head, then put her back down on the sidewalk.

"Hot damn, I'm liking the outfit. God, you really do have awesome legs."

"Puck."

Rachel jumped at the sound of Finn's voice. It may only have been two weeks, but she'd found herself missing it immensely.

She still missed it now, in all honesty. Instead of the soft, warm timbre she was used to, he sounded harsh, serious, _pissed off_.

"Yeah yeah, I'll leave you two alone. I need to speak to the Chief anyway."

Puck punched her shoulder (playfully, she supposed, but she it hurt anyway), stalked off (winking at a few of the girls from her building), and left just her and Finn (and Mr Taylor, who was _still_ staring).

Finn shifted a little where he stood, hands in the pockets of his uniform. "Um... You okay?"

She opened her mouth, closing it just as quickly.

Was she okay?

It depended what the definition meant.

Yes, she hadn't been burnt to death in the thong fire of '12, and she'd somehow managed to survive the pervert of the same year.

Yes, she had a job, and it paid reasonably well.

Yes, she had friends, friends that cared about her despite their differences.

She wasn't sure if he was asking any of that though.

So she simply shrugged, unable to meet his gaze when all she'd wanted for the past two weeks was to see him, talk to him, _hug him_.

"I miss you," she whispered, gazing down at her sheep slippers. He either didn't hear her or didn't choose to reply, but an awkward silence followed, and she felt like curling up in a ball and pretending none of it had ever happened.

She shivered, only to feel something heavy on her shoulders. Glancing up at him in panic, she saw the tiniest of smiles on his face as he placed his fireman's jacket around her. It was so tiny, in fact, that she couldn't be sure it had ever been there.

"As much as those pyjamas rock, they're not very New York practical, are they?"

Her eyes flashing, she snorted and stomped a foot on the floor. "How was I supposed to know I'd have to stand outside for an hour to be stared at by weirdos?"

Finn raised an eyebrow as she pulled the jacket closer around her. God, it _smelt_ like him.

And, well, smoke and things, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

"Hey, you mind not ogling my girl?"

Her head snapped towards him so fast that she was seriously concerned she'd accumulated whiplash. Mr Taylor took one look at Finn before _finally_ backing away completely because he'd called her _my girl_.

My girl.

She was his girl.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have said that." He ran a hand through his hair, and Rachel found herself becoming preoccupied by the muscles in his arm. "I figured that if I said you were my girlfriend or whatever, he'd back off."

Ah yes, there was nothing like being slapped in the face with the cold fish of disappointment.

"I'm surprised you didn't start the fire on purpose, you know, to lure me out of my cave." The cheeky smile on Finn's face was too cute for her to resist, and temporarily forgetting the burning pit of disappointment that torched her very being, Rachel laughed in mock outrage.

If only he knew.

"Please, I'm not _that_ desperate. I did, however, consider borrowing a cat to put in a tree, but that was planned for tomorrow night."

Finn started to laugh. Rachel started to laugh at the sound of him laughing. Puck watched them from afar and rolled his eyes. The Chief shouted for Finn to get going.

"I'll see you around, Rach. Keep the jacket and I'll come get it... sometime, I guess."

As he turned to leave, it felt like everything was slipping through her fingers. Here he was, after calling him and avoiding him and dreaming about him and drooling over him; she couldn't just let him walk away!

But that's what he wanted, and no matter how much it hurt, she had to respect that.

He stopped in his tracks, as if contemplating something. He turned, slowly, looked her up and down (she got legitimate goose bumps, but they were definitely the good kind), then took five long steps towards her. She waited for their first kiss.

He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed so tightly that Rachel started seeing stars behind her eyelids. Who was she to complain? Despite the lack of fresh air to breathe, she still managed to return the gesture as best she could, burying her face against his neck and sighing against his skin.

"Stay safe," he murmured. He pulled away, ran a finger over her quivering bottom lip, and kissed her.

No, it wasn't a full frontal make out in front of a less than eager crowd. He kissed her forehead, mussed up her hair, then winked at her as he jumped into the fire truck beside Puck.

She slept in his jacket that night, and maybe the night after, and maybe the night after that.

She continued to sleep in it as week three of being clientless began.


End file.
